IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.25 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


)3  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTiR,N.Y.  M5B0 

(71«)  S7}-4S03 


an 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  ir  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  eKemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mithode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessouf . 


□ 

n 

n 
n 

D 
D 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul6e 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli§  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  beer,  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  itait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6ti  film^es. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


r/i 


n 
n 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 


□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet6es  ou  piqu^es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tach^es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualite  indgale  de  rimpression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  /jar  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6td  film6es  A  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


T 
s 

T 
v\ 

IV 
d 

ei 
bi 

"! 
re 
m 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires; 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film^  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

y 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


ire 

li^tails 
es  du 
modifier 
er  une 
Filmage 


es 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 
Mount  Allison  University 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -♦►  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
righf  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 

Mount  Allison  University 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  fllmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  cu  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


( 


Un  des  symboles  3uivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film*  A  partir 
de  I'angle  sup«rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


arrata 
to 


pelure, 
•n  d 


1 


D 


32X 


6 


-"-~"'"'^H'11f 


■r 


.If 


LEISURE     HOURS. 


"  /  (la.i'l   illtflllidn   (III   tlif   sillrih:    «•('»., 

.Il,:'    Ihnllllit     I    Slir    ilili'tltT    hl'lllil    h'')ir.'' 

—  r,i:-r    I'.'. 


^mmmm^ 


^. 


■  ■♦  •  •  »»•'•>»••••  ••#•••  •_••_•  ■  ♦  • 


6^  _       _ 


ejiii&l 


S.^-^-     I.: 


j'.isi  im:  Horns 


A    Sl-.l  IXrioN    nr 


sill  »R  r  r<  >i;.M^ 


lit 

111  ^^"^ 


ii'     1^- 


^■^^^   •!    iVli5crUaurous  .scraps,   il,  ^.)i^:.^ 


% 


4}>3   If 


!;■,    .1<.  Ill\'    A.    1.  \Mi'  \N'. 


•  \"ii  .;ii)iliu-!  luici  i-i|iii'  I'. into." 
— ///;-.(0\  tji'.  iii,  O'li'  1. 

'■  I'lflioM    ,11    ihrse    \vli;it     liisiire 
hmirs  ili'iu  (iiil. 

AllllKrllUMlt  .lllil   tl'Uf  kllfl\vli/ilu(! 

haiiil  ill   liiii'l."--'  '('■/"  '  • 


7,    f 


^ 


i)' 


^^ 


^^iMM-i^ii^-'<s  '£;^:>€  M 


i'n;i.i>[ii.i)  ]',\  rill.  .\r  ihok.     c^|| 


r  UNIVEF-ISITY 

MOUNT  ALLISON 

LlBRAF^Y. 


"n 


J 


f 


Kntercd,  according  to  Act  of  C 


ongress,  A.   D.   1870. 


Bv  JOHN   A.   LANIGAN 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  C 


o'lgress,  at  Washington,  J),  c. 


v'/,.  «.«,*„.,.  o.. .,,.,  ,v.,r.  w  .,//>,.,.,  ,;,,,,,,;^:^ 


•I() 


Thk    rev.    JAMES    A.    LANKiAN 


rilK    SKCONl)    KDirioN    OF 


T" 


f 


ESE      rOEMS 


IS     MOST      R  KS  I'KC    1' IT  I.I.N       1  )K  1 )  I  CA  T  I'.  I » 


r.  V    HIS 


r.oviNc    nkoTiiEk, 


l>s 


rHK    AITHOR 


?  ^ 


'Wl 


P  R  F.  !•■  A  C  K . 

Ai/i'ilouoii  it  has  of  late  heccjinc  fashiunaljle  among 
authors,  to  attribute  the  publication  of  their  works  to  the 
■  un'/icst  (Diif  repeated  so/ieil(r/i(iiis  of  a  /lost  of  friends,  I 
regret  that  I  cannot  ccjnforni  myself  to  the  general  rule 
eA  etiquette  on  this  |)oint.  My  only  apology  for  intruding 
myself,  or  rather  my  woi'k,  on  the  j)ublic  is,  that,  a>  the 
fust  edition  iA  my  poems  met  w  iih  ;.  ■..  Misiderable  success, 
tlie  second,  I,  hope,  may  receive  ec^iial,  if  not  greater. 
fa\r)r  from  the  public. 

Tastes  (lifter  wiih  individual> ;  one  _Ielight>  in  the 
<Lescription  of  a  bait'e  field,  another  rt  avN  with  pleasure 
anything  relating  to  the  pictureM|Uc.  To  ]ilease  all  is  ww 
inij^ossibility ;  to  li)',  therefore,  to  do  x).  would  be  a 
mistake,  and  one  mu>t  be  sati'-lied.  a>  I  am  at  pioeni. 
with  the  coUNciousne^s  that  he  has  done  all  thiU  laid  in 
his  power  to  plea>e  himself.  ( >f  course,  therein  1  ha^e 
not  incurred  censure,  for  >uch  i>  the  jirecept  ol  wisdom. 
Jt  ma)  be  asked  \\\\\  neai^l}'  all  my  poems  relate  in  scmie 
way,  either  direcll}'  or  indirectly,  to  N<na  Scotia.  I  deem 
this  a  sufficient  answer:   it  is  the  place  of  my  niRiii. 

"  lircathc's  llicre  a  man  with  soul  s<i  dcul. 
Who  never  lo  himself  hath  said, 
'I'hls  is  my  f  re;/,  my  iiatk'c  himl." 


-"iT 


X 


Prefac 


I  feel  as  if  I  could  ne\ei-  lire  discoursinij  (ju  the  nianv 
beauties  of  \\\-^  native  land.      I   can  ^ay  no  words  half 
strong  enough  to  express  the  feelings  that  l)urn  within 
me. 

It  i>  true  Nova  Scotia  is  not  ver}    well   known   here, 
and  there  are  some  "•  .o,  on  lieing  introduced  to  a  \ova 
Scotian,  would  be  vei  \  much  surprised  if  hi>  nasal  orp-ans 
were  no'  greeted  with  the  flavor  of  fisJi.     \\\\\.  belie\e  me, 
this  is  a  sad   mistake.      Xo  place   in  America    i->  blessed 
with  a  healthie-     'imate,  none  more  abounding  in  >cenerv 
ecjual,  ■*■  not    >:'perior,  to  any  part  of  the   ihuKon  or  St. 
Lawrence,      Xor  must  we  imagine    .  covered  \\ith  -now, 
as  some,  either  owing  t(j  the  inrmdvr  characlei-  of  their 
nature-,   or  the  exuberance   of  their  imaginations,    have 
said;  for.  although  there  is  a  heallliy  frost  (juite  sufficient 
to  give  a  rosy  appearance  to  the  conii)lexion  without  the 
assistance  of  paint,   vel   the  winter   i->   not   -o  changeable 
as    in    other    ])lace^,    and    hence    more    healthv.        In    a 
word,  a  trip  to  nii;   i.vnp  .m     \\\y,  M\v-tf,nwiR  wouhl 
not     be     without     interest.        Thi^     l.ongk'lh,\v,    in     his 
"I'lvANtiKMNE,"  Mrs.  — -.  ill  her  ••  I'm  \\\\  r  ihickley's 
"  I'encilling.s   by  the  Way,""   and    Murdoch"-  ••  jlisi,,ry  of 
Acadia,'"  jjlainly  demonstrate. 

To  conclude;  if  in  this  blih'  volume  1  can  offer  a 
tribute  of  lo\e  which  will  repay,  e\en  in  part,  ilie  debt 
of  gratitude  which  I  owe  to  my  native  hind,  j  will  re-l 
satisfied;  tlu'  rest  I  lea\e  to  the  iutiin^ic  \alue  of  the 
])oems  themscKcs. 


AWV'.A'     7'c)    lOIAWlE. 


I.NTI!Ol>l  (  'i  loX.  — '    Ai  AlMA.    M\     IIoMl'    liV    Till:    S|:a."' 

lvissiN<    l^iiiixi:,  

'rin.  W  \\ni.;{i-.u'->  KinruN.  

LiM'S.  AVKiTii  N   i'ri;i\(.  A    I'iirMii:i;  M(.i;m. 

Tiir.  Todu  Hi.iNii  Man,  

To   MV    <'l.l>    N'lol.lN 

TiiiVK  oi'  Mi: 

OHK   lo  MV   I  [at, 

I>i:atii  nj.    A    Pakkmi 

To  Caimui  , 

!'K('riii:(  V, 

Tni';  Lk.h'i  iiorsi: 

I  i»l!    i;\l:i!    ANM   Anon 

Canadian   I{k\  ii:wi:i{s;  a  !<A'rii;i  , 

I  III:  .I;ami!m:k:  a  Tail  oi-   Nnx  a  Scotia, 

Tin;  PiusoNKiJ, 

MiDNiciiT  Mas>  in  Munmjkai,  ('(»i.i,i:(.!:,    . 

Links  tix   riih;  Hiuninc  oi   Sika'^im  i.m.  (,'ai  iikhkai. 

A  Li;  1  I  i.k. 


/'":/,■. 
1.'! 
lo 
\^ 

l;i 
I'l 

25 
•2i\ 

2S 

;m 
ni 

.•!2 

at 

40 
71 
7!) 

Si> 
90 


^ 


XI 1 


Index  to    I  'o/iinic. 


MISCKLLAMlOl.S   S(  ILM'S. 
To  Kl.r.A 

AnsWKI!    to   some   Sa1!(  ASIK     \"i;i;vis    \\\    .1.    I»     ( 

To  l.i/zii:,  ON  in:ii  Biutiidav, 

Impromi'Tu  at  an  Evi:NiN<i  I'ahtv. 

Links  on  I'kksi:ntin(;  a   Lady  \\\\\\  mv    I'kti 

Lines  whittkn  on  a  Vai.kntini;  id  fAitiJiic  J{ 

Lines  on  r,i:iN(i  1'Ui:si-.n'i  i:i)  wrm   \n  Ivoi;>-  I'm 

To  Anna 

Ili'iTAru  ON  .MV  Si>ii:i:. 

IjInks  Writti;n  in  an  Ai.ium. 

Links  to  a  Fimi:ni> 

To  Annie 

<)I)K  TO  TIIIO  Lii.v 

To  Hannah,  wkitii.n  in  iii;i;  Ai.i:i  \i. 

'I'llE    HuNTEH's   Mo1{NIN<.   S.l\(, 

Moral,  


I.AIJK. 


KE,      . 

-V, 

Ki:T-li00K 


!»:; 
!)S 

\m 

10(1 

1(11 

KIL' 
108 
KM 
10.-, 
10(J 


,    .         !»:; 

9(5 

.       !»(J 

i)7 

iOOK       !)S 

.       99 

10(1 

.     10(1 

101 

.     lOL' 

108 

.     101 

lor. 

.     10(] 


A  f:^  T^ 


LEISURE  HOURS 


iNTRODic  rrox 


ACAD/ A.    MV  HOME  BY  riTE  SKA. 

A  AV'A  V  o'er  the  l)liie  rolling  waters, 
^  To  Acadia's  fair  (lime  tonight, 

i\[\   heart,  with  true  natixe  deNotioii, 

Wanders  back,  in  its   joyous  delight, 
To  the  friends  whom  so  tondK'  [  cherish. 

To  the  scenes  where  1  whispered  irood-hye: 
And  oh!   sooner  shall  memory  perish 

Than  the  thoughts  of  Acadia  die. 

(2) 


14 


Lcism-c  Jlours. 


"Out,  out  on  thy  calm  waters  rowing, 

Where  I  chanted  thv  sweet  sono;s  ])v  niLdit, 
I  gazed  on  each  form  'mid  tlie  glowing 

'.rhat  shone  from  the  pJiospJioric  light; 
Out.  out  on  thv  calm  waters  steerinti; 

]  am  (  hanting  thy  sweet  songs  once  more. 
And  list  lor  vour  frigate's  wild  cheerinii- 

As  the  anthem  they  loudly  encore. 

••  When  the  moon  o'er  the  waters  is  beaminu-. 

Do  vou  think  of  the  one  who  's  awav, 
l)at  whose  heart  on  this  eve  in  its  dreamina'. 

Vax  back  to  Acadia  doth  stra\? 
Oil!   dear  to  m\  heart  are  thy  places. 

A(^adia.  thou  gem  of  tlie  sea  ! 
Hut  dearer  liy  far  are  the   taces 

Of    the    friends    wlio    were    comrades    with 
me. 


"•And  now  in  m\   lone  ( liamber  silting. 

As,  des[)on(lent,  1  muse  here  to-night. 
Sweet  visions  of  ])leasure  are  flitting 

Around  in  the  evening's  dim  light: 


J.cisi/rr  Ifoius. 


15 


Thcrt  arc  si<iiis  for  the  j()\s  that  liave  perished, 
There  are  hojies  that  aL;ain  I  may  see 

The  friends  whom  so  loudly  j  cherished, 
Vw  Acadia,  mv  liome  bv  the  sea." 


r^:.- 


K/SS/XC;    /iR/DGK. 

TN  a  \alle)  to  the  ]vi>t\vard, 

Where  a  streamlet  ^j^entl)'  i^lides. 
Stands  an  ancient  little  ^tone  bridi-e, 
(Ireen  by  time  and  worn  b\- tides. 

Here  1  '\e  often  stood  an<l  wondered, 
As  1  watched  the  brawny  wave 

Rise  and  swell  against  the  sea-shore, 
^\'iIl  that  e\er  be  my  grave. 

Once,  about  the  hour  of  midnight. 
As  the  moon  was  rising  slow 

From  behind  the  distant  mountain, 
Smiling  on  the  tide  below, 


^1 


i6 


Leisure  Hours. 


I  strayed  along  the  lonely  valle\', 
'Neath  the  shadow  of  the  ridii-e. 

And  wat(^hed  the  silvery  streamlet  rushina: 
Down  its  ro(-k  iKith  to  the  hridne; 

i  thought,  when  looking  high  above  me 
At  the  big,  bright  golden  moon, 

()r  the  many  trials  before  me, — 
Was  1  going  to  meet  them  soon? 

Many  things  I  thought,  while  watchina; 

How  the  shadow  and  the  liaht 
blended  like  man's  drear\-  lifetime — 

One  i)art  <  loud}-,  one  part  bright. 

Out  u])()n  the  ehill\-  waters 

Silentl)  a  bark  made  waw 
r.est  she'd  wake  the  slumbering  billow 

Of  the  fair  Ohebucto  |]a\-. 


|:i 


And  1  wat(-hed  her  e\ery  moxement, 
As  she  stroxe  to  (•at(  h  the  l)reeze; 

b)Ut  it  seemed  to  shun  lier  canxas, 
lor  it  murmured  to  ihe  trees. 


Leisure  Hours. 

Soon  its  dusky  form  grew  plainer, 
And  it  seemed  to  near  tlie  shore, 

Til]  tlie  sailors  in  the  rigging 

Could  l)e  seen,  but  nothing  more. 

But  tlie  hour  was  growing  later. 

And  tlie  air  was  getting  chill. 
So  I  turned  m\  footsteps  homeward, 

'i'hough  'twas  partly  'gainst  my  will. 

I\lan)  years  ha\e  come  and  vanished 
Like  the  thoughts  I  cherished  then, 

But  that  bridge  is  e\er  standing 
To  acconnnodate  all  men; 

And  will  stand  for  ages  coming, 

'dainst  both  time  and  tide  and  wave, 

'J'ill  the  tide  of  time  shall  bear  me 
()  er  its  bosom  to  mv  iinue. 


t 


"J  f''- 


77//;    IVANDERKA^'S   RRTCRN. 

'T^HE  night  winds  blew  bitter  and  cold. 

And  the  snow  flakes  fell  dee])  at  the  door. 
And  a  wanderer  came  weak  and  old 

Tp  the  cot  thcit  he  owned  once  before, 
And  he  asked  for  admittance  therein. 

To  warm  his  weak  limbs  at  the  tire, 
})Ut  his  voice  sounded  dead  on  the  wind, 

And  the  snow  i^rew  still  hiu:her  and  hidier. 


i; 


And  he  called  to  his  son  from  below: 

''  'Tis  thy  lather  that  begs  at  thy  door; 
lUit  he  laid  himself  down  in  the  snow. 

For  his  limbs  had  grown  tired  and  sore. 
"Can  you  let  your  [)()or  tather  lie  here 

And  perish  amid  this  cold  snow? 
Tell  me,  (juickl   or  I  '11  die  in  dispair;  — 

In  thy  pity,  m\-  son,  don't  sav  no  I 


« 

1. 


Li-isinw   Hours. 

In  the  morn,  wlicn  the  i)eo[)le  passed  by, 

With  amu/ement  they  gazed  on  his  corpse 
Half  Iniried  in  snow  there  he  lay. 

And  he  held  in  his  hand  a  small  cross. 
And  the  house  was  untenanted  then, 

For  his  son  had  long  since  gone  awav; 
So  not  far  from  lii>  house,  in  the  glen, 

Lay  his  hones  in  their  cold  bed  to-day, 

Sir/>tc)n('i>\   1806. 

/JA'AS 

WRii  ii:n'   dl  kiNo   a    rniM)i:K  >|()k\[. 

''T^HFO  sky,  an  hour  ago,  was  clear. 

And  brilliant  was  the  sun  ; 
'idle  earth  and  all  around  were  sear, 

And  so  the  da\-  beiran. 
lUit  now  'lis  Clanged,  and  what  a  change! 

The  whole  of  Hea\en  is  dark, 
.Vnd  all  along  its  mighty  range 

'['he  leaping  thunders  bark. 


19 


20 


Leisure  IJoi/rs. 


Sec  how  the  busy  Inim  is  hushed  I 

A  God  lias  spoken  now, 
And  by  His  word  yon  tree  is  crushed; 

He  makes  the  i)roudest  bow. 
Tile  ( ity  belles  that  flirting  came 

Aw  hour  ago,  are  gone. 
And  (ireat  St.  James  and  Notre  Dame 

Are  now  both  left  alone. 


Hark!   from  its  murky  cavern  roars 

The  thunder  through  the  skies; 
And  see!   the  vi\id  lightning  pours 

New  terror  as  it  flies. 
The  drunkard  treml)ling  seeks  his  home, 

Insensible  with  rum. 
And  there  he  meets  his  (  hildrcn  cold, 

His  wife  with  terror  dumb. 


ft! 


Roll  on,  thou  mighty  thunder,  roll, 
Thy  voice  insi)ires  my  mind; 

I  love  to  see  thee  thus  control 
The  spirit  of  mankind. 


Leisure  Hours.  21 

Ha!  how  he  shrinks  btMieath  thv  roar, 
And  seeks  some  slieltering  place: 

Roar  on,  brave  thunder,  as  before, 
And  terrifv  man's  race. 


-■'■■^"^^%?i^fe^— 


THE  rOOR  BLIND  MAN. 

T3IM  V',  oh  1   pity  a  poor  bhnd  man. 

Having  a  child  to  look  after; 
(iive  me  a  copper,  oh  I   give,  if  you  can, 
It  will  do  you  a  service  hereafter. 

rity,  oh  I  pit}  a  ])()()r  blind  man. 

Doomed  for  a  li\ing  to  wander 
Along  the  cold  streets,  in   the  snow,  pale  and 
Avan, — 

Oh  !   give  me  the  mone\  you  W  S([uander. 

]\liy  do  you  turn  from  me  thus,  dear  sir? 
Ha\e  you  no  heart  or  no  feeling? 


'y  '> 


Lrisitrc  [fours. 


You  feel  not  the  cold  while  you're  wrap'd  in 
your  fur, 
Like  the  child  that  you  see  by  nie  kneeling. 

Rememl)er,  dear  sir.  Judgment  Day  has  to  pass, 
And  all  men  shall  get  satisfaction, 

When  the  good  and  the  bad  shall  be  mixed  in 
one  mass, 
And  all  men  shall  be  judged  for  each  action. 


x% 


*M^m^^^ 


!        If 


LINES  TO  MY  OLD  VIOLIN. 

'"PHERE,  in  the  corner, 

Sleeps  my  old  sire. 
While  I  keej)  watching 
The  simmering  fire. 

Once  it  was  merrv, 
Poor  little  thinn, 


1 


Leisure  Hours. 


23 


Now  it 's  forgotten, 
Though  it 's  a  king. 

A  king  whose  gay  cliirpings 
First  gained  him  renown, 

I'ut  now  he  's  grown  weak 
For  the  want  of  a  crown. 


There  he  lays  sleeping; 

Hushed  are  tlie  strains 
That  flowed  o'er  my  soul 

Like  the  blood  through  my  veins. 

When  in  the  twilight. 

Mellow  and  gray, 
His  loud,  sihery  notes 

Were  heard  far  awav, 

Chirping  like  linnets. 

With  music  so  sweet, 
Mocking  each  twist 

Of  tlie  (^hildren's  feet. 


f 


i 


f 


^-^  Leisure  Hours. 

As  they  danced  in  a  groii]:) 

Out  on  the  beacli. 
Slowly  I  watched  the 

Mana'iivres  of  each. 

15ut  ])ast  are  those  days. 
And  the  viol  is  hushed, 

AMiile  the  heart  that  once  leaped 
At  its  music  is  crushed. 

And  the  children  are  gone, 

Some  are  scattered  h'ke  grain; 

But  deej)  in  my  mind 

'l^heir  young  figm-es  remain. 

Once  I  thought,  as  I  took  up 

My  viol  to  ])hiy, 
J'hat  anuisemeiu  and  time 

Would  soon  hear  ihc!n  a\\a\-. 


■'.if 


(I 


4J 


•'"J  those  dioughts  were  mistaken; 
->I\'  \  iol  's  no  more : 


f^ 


Leisure  Hours, 


And  I  see  tlieir  young  visi(jns 
As  brif^Hn  as  before. 

It  lays  there  In  want  of 
A  great  many  tilings, 

But  the  most  of  them  all 
Is  a  set  of  new  strings. 


.--  y   ,  cT: 


'--^<$^^mm^ 


n 


I 


THINK  OF  MK. 

wuirrKx,  wnKN  lkavixc  uosrox,   ukc.  i,S6:;. 

L'.ux'  thoc  well  1  aiul  if  forever, 

Still  forever,  fart:  iliee  well.  —  IJvi^ox. 

.    l\n-e  thee  well  !  as  now  we  're  parting, 
Vou  to  wander  o'er  the  sea  : 
I'is  sad  to  tlnnk  that  thou  art  startintr'; 
lUit,  in   sorrow,  think  of  me. 


1  '\\ 


If  th\-  heart  siglis  o'er  the  billow. 
( )r  th\  s|)irit,  l)ra\e  and  free, 


I 


26  Leisure  I  foil  IS. 

Feels  110  rest  upon  its  j)ill()\v. 

Wandering,  weeping,  think  of  nie. 

Thou  hast  friends,  remember,  dearest, 
And  a  liome  wliere'er  you  be  : 

Let  all  those  who  whis'per  nearest. 
Slip  aside  and  think  of  me. 


'^iUfM$.^^f^3^^J^ 


TO  ^^y  hat. 

/^OMK,  hat:   how  fares   it   with   thee?     Thou 

art  pale, — 
A  ghastly  thing,  hung  there  u])()n  a  nail. 
Tell  me  thou  wast  made  of  goodl\  stuff. 
To  fule  awa\'  from  purest  white  to  buff! 
1  can't  say  mtu  h  ;  but  this  1  'm  bound  to  sa)', 
We've  had  our  share  of  har(lshi])s  ;  so,  to-da)-, 
We  '11  pull  our  Iik  k  together.     This  droll  ])lanet 
Owes  tis  each  a  lixiuL"-  :  so  we  '11  ha\e  it. 


j-> 


Leisure  Hours.  27 

Throw  off  that  dull  aj^pearance,  and  look  bright  : 
We  both  have  youth  before  us, — there,  that 's 

right. 
I'll  brush  thee  more,  perhaps  it  ser\es  as  food  : 
They  say  a  rubhiiii:;,  now  and  then,  is  good. 


How  oft  did  Uella  J.  knock  thee  about. 

And  witli  her  everlasting  throat  cry  out, 

''  Oh,  what  a  donkey  1  why  not  get  another, 

And  gi\'e  that  played-out  beaut)'  to  your  brother. 

1,  with  a  sigh,  said:   Dearest,  come  to  me. 

1  did  not  mean  tlie  lad\ ,  l)ut  to  thee 

A\'ere  those  sweet  words  addressed  ;  so  cheer  uj) 

hat, 
I  like  thee  all  the  better,  then,  for  that  : 
You've  seen  me  through  my  troubles,  toils,  and 

pain. 
Now  see  me  through  ni)  ha})})}'  hours  again. 
If  sJic  went  through  as  much  as  \()u  and  I, 
She  'd  laid  herself  down  long  ago  to  die. 


1 


-[!' 


/^ 


■^^  ^^^ 


DEAril  OF  .1  iwRRcrr. 

WKIiri'.N    1  \1'KI:SS1A     1()K    A   iRii:xi), 
M1>S   I,.    lAMIKSON. 


A  S  1  sat  in  xoiir  kitclKMi  talking. 
^^^   With  tlic  tViL'nds  that  ,L;-at]icrc(l  there, 
And  watched  "Poor  Tolly"  niocking 

Each  word  that  (aught  her  ear, 
My  tale  was  (|iii('kl\'  ended, 

\\\  the  change  ^\r()nght  in  affairs; 
Vonr  hearts  liad  all  awakened, 

\'our  e}es  were  filled  witli  tears: 
■'  Poor  l\)lly''  had  just  fainted. 

And  tell  upon  her  head. 
Hut  wh)-  should  I  thus  paint  it  : 

"Iwas  death  ;  •■  Poor  Poll  "  war.  dead  ! 


':|J 


Leisure  Hours. 

Her  mistress  then  went  rushing 

To  Polly's  prison  door, 
Where  its  inmate  lay  quite  senseless 

On  the  hay  imbedded  floor. 
Each  one  caressed  it  fonder, 

To  relieve  it  from  its  pain  : 
15ut  why  our  time  thus  squander. 

Poor  Poll  ne'er  spoke  again. 
We  strove  to  make  it  utter 

Some  words,  and  raise  its  head : 
It  croaked,  and  then  it  fluttered, 

P)Ut  not  a  word  it  said. 


29 


Wlien,  with  a  rock  for  a  i)illow, 

And  the  forest  for  my  bed. 
The  mem'ry  of  this  story 

Annoyed  my  youthful  head, 
I  penned  it  down  on  paper. 

Ne'er  to  be  defliced, 
Uy  man  or  woman's  (-aper. 

Without  wit  to  replace. 
It's  death,  I  mourned  it  sadl\  ; 

And  would  that  t  (ould  gi\c 


<3) 


/! 


3° 


Leisure  Hours. 

It  life,  I  then  would  gladly 
Have  prayed  for  it  to  live. 


-^1 


'  oTo  *-? 


ro  c 


E. 


\\  KITTEN  lOR  MASTER  H.   C.    15KI-T-. 

CAN  it  be  that  1  'm  forsaken  ? 
Has  mvlovc  received  that  frown? 
Can  1  not  one  tear  awaken 

In  those  eyes  of  glossy  brown  ? 

1  did  love  thee,  brown-eyed  maiden, 
Love  that  lips  can  ne'er  unfold  ; 

But  you  scorned  me  ;  and  my  soul, 
1l'-iis  very  moment,  has  grown  cold. 

Tell  me,  fair  one, — T  would  know,  that 
If  this  heart,  though  young  it  l)e, 

Must  be  crushed,  then  be  it  so;  at 
Other  times  vou'U  think  of  me. 


mmi^a 


PROPHRCY. 


J ;' 


A   l)()L7r   seven   years  sliall   j)ass  o'er   Deco's 
^^         head,— 

That  is,  if  she  's  alive,  and  I  'm  not  dead, — 
When  her  false  heart,  indignant  though  it  be, 
Shall  perish  in  its  pride:  and  I  shall  see 
The  once  fiiir  "  Isabella"  kneel  in  ])ain 
To  sue,  and  beg  this  heart  to  love  again  ! 
But  she  shall  see  that  this  uncoiKjuered  heart 
vShall  ///("//  refuse  to  give  its  /firanrsf  part  _; 
And  every  tear  that  falls  from  her  brown  eye 
vShall  cause  this  heart  another  throb  of  jo)". 
Oh  !  sic'ccf  remorse,  avenger  of  the  right, 
Place  her  deceitful  heart  before  the  light  ; 
Teach  her  to  love  the  eve  that 's  bathed  in  blue, 
For  it 's  the  window  of  a  heart  that 's  true. 


ms^^.^x^-t^. 


^r:s 


^;i^:^i: 


Tff/^:  LlGHrHOUSE. 


/^UT  upon  the  surging  ocean, 
^-^  Stanch  and  firm,  without  a  motion, 
Smiling  on  the  waves'  commotion, 
Stands  the  lighthouse  on  a  rock. 


Ever  watching,  ever  waiting 
There  from  time  without  a  dating. 
There  it  hears  the  waves  relating 
Stories  of  the  stormy  deep. 


Oh!   how  sweet  to  see  it  lighting, 
\Vhen  the  winds  and  waves  are  fighting, 
Midst  their  wild  uproar,  delighting 
'J'he  poor  mariner  at  sea. 


Leisure  Hours. 


33 


While  their  bark  is  homeward  steering. 
And  all  men  on  deck  are  cheering 
As  they  fmd  themselves  anearing 
Nova  Scotia's  rockv  shore. 


It  seems  to  say,  '^  've  heard  the  crying 
Of  some  wayworn  sailor  dying, 
When  no  other  soul  was  nigh  him 
Save  his  angel  and  his  Ood." 


m 


Thus,  when  dangers  hover  near  me, 
May  I  see  some  light  to  steer  me, 
And  some  goodly  bark  to  bear  me 
Safe  across  the  sea  of  life. 


^ 


\  '4 


FO/^  F.VRR  AND  ANON. 


I    I 


TJARK:   to  the  bell, 

From  the  distant  tower, 
As  it  sounds  so  sweet 

At  every  hour. 
And  the  river  flows 

Past  its  moss-fringed  banks, 
And  the  people  assemble 
To  give  Ciod  thanks, 

For  ever  and  anon. 


Look  at  the  moon, 
With  its  silver  hue, 

Asjt  rides  high  o'er 
The  waters  blue. 


« 


Leisure  Hours. 


35 


'I 


And  from  the  waters 

A  swelling  breeze 
Complains  in  sorrow 

To  the  trees, 

For  ever  and  anon. 

There,  on  the  hill, 

With  its  long  gray  spire, 
The  village  chapel 

Stands  a  sire. 
And  the  people  throng  there, 

Both  night  and  day, 
With  their  books  and  beads, 

That  they  may  pray, 

For  ever  and  anon. 


■I 


CAiVADIAA^  RE  I  IJi  WERS. 


A     SAJTRK 


_  "  (J,  G(.d  :  inspire  my  pen  tliat  1  may  teach  those  hard-heartoil 
tools  thatwliich  sleepeth  in  my  mind."— Anon. 

Prepare  for  rhyme— J  'II  publish,  right  or  wrong : 
Fools  are  my  theme,  h't  satire  be  my  song. 

A  man  must  serve  his  time  to  every  trade, 

Save  censure,  critics  all  are  ready  made."— IIykon. 

"Such  shameless  bards  we  have;  and  yet,  'tis  true, 
'J'here  arc  as  mad,  abandoned  critics,  too.'— Por'i:. 


^NC^l-:  upon  a  time  1  read  a  l)ook— 

On  what,  on  whom,  I'm  sure  I  did  n't  look : 
And  this  contained  a  flood  of  youthful  rhyme, 
Written  by  some  young  author  in  lus  time; 


Leisure  Hours. 


37 


And  though  his  verse  was  empty,  and  some  sax- 
It  had  not  sense  enough  to  throw  away, 
Still  there  was  food  for  critics'  jjuny  brains, 
Who,  after  having  eaten  all  with  pains, 
Si)oke  out  and  said  it  had  not  sense,  and  whv? 
Because  they  ate  it  all.     And,  l)y-the-bv, 
1,  too,  did  write  a  book,  not  long  ago. 
And  even  thought  its  verse  was  fit  to  show: 
For  when  I  tried  to  write,  and  found  1  could, 
I  read  it  o'er  again  and  thought  it  good. 
I  wrote  some  more,  and  wrote,  and  wrote  again 
Another  song,  but  in  a  different  strain: 
So  thus  the  book  increased,  and  page  by  page 
I  saw  it  grow  cjuite  stout,  and  thought  by  age 
I  'd  see  it  go  to  print,  and  thus  would  gain 
The  first  step  to  the  pyramid  of  fame. 


1 1 


A  month  passed  by;  I  saw  the  book  in  print; 
And  as  I  sold  it  here  and  there,  like  mint 
It  spread  around,  and  even  men  of  care 
Pronounced  the  work  as  being  pretty  fair. 


'7 '  "  r 


i 


,?f^ 


[.cisiirc  Hours. 


>        !: 


lUit  oh  I  sad  thought  I   it  (-ame  to  critics'  view, 
So  the /I  to  fortune  and  success,  adieu. 
First,  in  his  anticjue  chair,  with  hair  upright, 
John  Dougall  sits,  and  shouts  with  all  his  might ; 
Xot   from   his   dee})  deep  Noice,  nor   yet  deep 

brain, — 
For  brains  he  had  none, — but  with  borrowed 

strain, 
He  roars  among  the  columns  of  a  paper 
'i'hat,  like  himself,  is  but  a  flickering  taper. 
Men  saw  his  tough  review  and  thoughtful  said 
'•  Is  this  a  whim  of  Dougall's  crazy  head?  " 
Hiev  laui»hed  at  him,  and  as  from  friends  I've 

heard. 
That,  like  himself,  'twas  utterly  absurd. 

And  shall  such  men  as  Cameron  commence, 
^^'ith()ut  the  smallest  germ  of  common  sense; 
\\'ho  strains  his  nerves  to  write  a  line  or  two, 
Vet  has  the  cheek  to  scribble  a  review? 
Poor,  foolish  would-be  bard,  how  simply  droll 
Are  all  \'our  i)ennv  essa\s ;   vet  vour  soul 
Sighs  for  a  place  among  the  men  of  fame, 
^\'here  \et,  the\  ha\e  not  even  heard  Nourname. 


'I 


.1 


Leisure  Hours. 


39 


I  r  I 


'1 


And  thus  it  was  when  Byron  first  began 

To  write  in  verse;  he  followed  his  own  plan, 

And  laughed  and  sneered  at  them,  and  wrote 

again, 
Until  he  made  them  reverence  his  name. 


1 


ftw^&w<>iiSB.iktta 


T 


\1  ! 


/•//A  MA  MIU.ER 


(      ! 
1 


I    1 


A  TAT,K  OK  NONA   SCOTIA,   lOl  NJ)KD  OX    !•  AC!'. 

[  AJ)\iiK  risi'.Mi-Nr.] 

'I'lic  scene  of  the  following  poem  is  laid  among  tlic  ni.mntains  of 
Acadia,  or,  as  it  is  nowcalkil,  Nova  Scotia.   Time,  commencing  from 
about  the  latter  end  of  Aj.ril,  1746,  to  the  siege  of  ( Iran.l-l're,  11th 
Fel,.,j747. 

'J'liis  little  work,  in  three  cant(,s,  is  founded  on  fact,  though  iningled 
with  romance  ;  and  gives  a  short,  but  concise,  description  of  the  scen- 
ery, and  cust..msaml  manners  of  the  Acadians  ;  together  with  a  full 
accoiuu  of  tin:  siege  of  Orand-Prc. 

The  ••Rand.ler"  is  Kdwin  J.  Ruthvcn,  a  voung  luuiter  about  18 
years  of  age,  wuh  whom  the  reader  uill  !„■  more  acquainted  dm-ing 
the  coiu-se  of  the  poem.  The  n.une  "juan  -  is  also,  in  several  places, 
used  Uir  the  same  person. 

N.  I!.— 1  am  indebted  to  Murdnch\  Hisiorv  of  Nova  .  .coti.i  for  the 
dales  of  the  siege  of  (Irand-i'n.. 

"  Where'er  1  roam,  w  hatever  realms  to  see, 
My  heart,  milraveiled,  fondly  turns  to  thee  ; 
Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain," 

Cioi-nSMITJl. 


t 


i 

I 


i 


Leisure  Hours. 


41 


I 


c:ANr(J     FIRS'L" 


T  CROSSED  thy  stream,  fair  Sissibou,  alone, 
^      About  the  hush  of  niglit  ;  and  all  was  still. 
Save  the  rip])ling  of  thy  wat'.Ts  'gainst  a  stone 

That  gilded  thy  gray  beac  h  from  hill  to  hill  : 
And,  as  I  plied  my  paddle  'gainst  the  wave, 

I  heard  the  carol  of  some  distant  frog, 
And,  turning  towards  the  ruined  tower,  I  gave 

One  searching  glance  amid  the  neighboring 

l)Og. 

r>ut  all  is  huslvd  again  ;  and  with  one  stroke 
Of  my  suspended  oar 
[  reached  the  shore, 
And,  jumping  out,  drew  up  my  skiff  of  oak. 
And  sat  me  down  u[)on  the  nearest  rock. 


^'^lethought  1  saw,  at  times,  a  bird  or  two 

Fly  out  from  midst  the  barrens,  and  then  soar 


t'Sffj'* 


42 


Leisure  Hours. 


i   I 


1'  I 

ii  \ 
1 1 


High  above  the  eastle,,  turn  and  view 

The  ruined  pile,  from  pinnacle  to  shore. 
Sh)\vly  it  descends,  and  slower  still 

It  glides  along  the  surface  of  the  lake  ; 
Touches  its  wing,  then,  soaring  past  the  mill, 

Returns  in  ])leasure  to  its  native  brake. 
I  gazed  intensely  on  the  sylvan  scene. 

And  thought  J  saw  another  Heaven  l^elow: 
A  thousand  stars  "  11  sparkled  on  flie  green,  " 

And  silver-tinted     :   .  ds  ])assed  to  :md   fh,. 
1  turned,  and  lookeci  i.^    n  that  lurid  scene. 

1  stood  midst  fallen  i)ilasters  alone, 
b'pon    my    mind   dread    thoughts  of    Sc  ri])ture 
gleam  : 

''There  shall  not  remain  a  stone  upon  a  stone.'" 


I  i: 


.1  ill 


The  moon  is  hid,  and  darkness  covers  all  ; 
A  mystics  stillness  chills  mv  very  soul  ; 

And  through  a  moss-cover'd   loop-hole' in    the 
wall 

'\  KU'-gling  rivulet  from  the  castle  stole. 


Ju'isurc  Hours. 


43 


1  sat  me  down  and  wandered  lar  away 

liack  into  memory's  bosom,  and  I  thought 

1  saw  my  many  school-mates,  light  and  gay, 
I'laying  on  the  hill  where  oft  1  fought. 


IV. 


Dark  grew  the  night,  and  darker  still 
Grew  everything,  from  mount  to  rill. 

Slumber  hovered  o'er  my  brow. 

And  my  thoughts  were  then,  as  now. 

Thoughts  of  hai)i)y  hours  gone  b\-  ; 
'J  o  which  I  answered  with  a  sigh, 
Then  sank   in  deep  lepose. 


,/   J)REAM, 

(iold  and  silver  si)arkle  bright 

Tn  the  gaudy  deej)  : 
Ani-els  cheer  the  mistv  air, 

Whilst  I  lav  in  slee]). 


i 


, 


if'ry 


T 


44 


Leisure   Hours. 


n 


And  niethinks  1  see  my  niotlier, 
(Chanting  with  the  rest  ; 

And,  with  her  a])pears  my  brother, 
T.eaning  on  her  breast. 

Softly,  gently,  he  arises, 
And  with  empty  glance, 

Looks  on  all  the  different  sizes 
\w  the  wide  e.\[)anse. 

Ah.  my  mother!  thou  art  pointing 

'I  o  thy  soii  on  earth, 
And  my  -.on!  tlion  art  anointinji 

With  thy  heavenly  mirth. 

•i'  '!<  :;:  :!:  :;:  jjj 

All  is  done,  and  [  awaken 
From  m\  glorious  dream  ; 

And,  if  I  am  ncH  mistaken, 
I  just  heard  a  scream. 

Hark  :    it  comes  from  yonder  hill  ; 

Here  I  cannot  stay  : 
'I  hough  it  be  against  my  will, 

I  must.  1  must  away. 


1 


Leisure  Hours.  ^c 

Then  bounding  off  at  greatest  si)ee(l, 

I  reached  the  rock-gilt  shore, 
And,  plowing  on  through  lake  and  weed, 

Resumed  my  chase  once  more. 

*  -i=  =i^  :i-  :■'  ;K  :•< 

And  then  1  saw  a  man  in  years, 

Bearing  a  maiden  young  ; 
C'old  and  week,  as  if  through  fears, 

The  maiden's  heart  was  wrumr. 

i 

"Will  no  one  help  me?"  loud  she  cried. 

"Is  no  one  near  me  now?" 
''Silen(^el  mad  girl;  you  must  abide 

IJy  what  I  've  said,  [  vow." 

He  laid  her  down  upon  the  ground, 

And  tied  her  to  a  stake. 
[  sprang  before  him  with  one  bound. 

Which  caused  his  form  to  shake. 

''(rive  up!  give  uj)  that  maid:  "    I  cried ; 

"  Deliver  her,  foul  man  !  "  t 

''  Never !  "  the  daring  wretch  re|)lied  ;  \ 

"Come,  take  her,  if  you  can." 

(4) 


I 


(•^I  !f'-^ 


46 


Leisure  Hours. 


i  i'l 


]\I\  proud  l)lood  burned.      I  (  oiild  not  stand. 

And  sec  her  thus  desi)air: 
I  grasped  my  sabre  firm  in  liand. 

Then  waved  it  in  the  air. 


Ifi 


I   ^'< 


Loud  claslied  our  swords  at  every  stroke, 
And  full  two  hours  we  fought. 

1  watched  him  well:  with  one  fierce  poke 
To  reach  my  breast  he  sought. 

And,  fearing  not  his  two-edged  steel, 
I  wrenched  it  from  his  hand; 

I5ut,  turning  cjuickly,  with  one  wheel 
He  threw  me  on  the  sand. 


He  would  have  stabbed  me  to  the  heart, 

hor  his  was  hard  as  stone, 
Had  not  my  pistol  played  a  part, 

And  sent  its  death-note  home. 


tj> 


I 


Leisure  Hours.  ^- 


CAXTO      SKLONI) 


J'JIE    ARR/WIL. 

The  night  was  cold,  the  hour  was  late, 

And  K\eline  stood  at  her  father's  gate: 

And,  by  the  moonbeam's  misty  aid. 

Was  seen  a  cottage  in  the  shade. 

She  turned,  and,  with  o'erwhelmini!-  Ldee 

vSaid,  "Come,  Juan,  come,  follow  me." 

Scarce  had  we  entered  upon  the  farm 

When  the  watch -dog  gave  a  loud  alarm. 

And  bounded  toward  us.      ]-:va  (ried. 

"  (lussaa,  Carlo  !  "      'J1ie  dog  complied. 

Soon  after  this  we  saw  a  lioht 

PJeaming  through  the  cottage  sight. 

Then  came  her  lather  to  the  door. 

And  in  his  hand  a  candle  bore. 

He  called  into  the  o])en  air, 

''S])eak  out  and  tell  me  who  (omes  there?" 


i5 


fT 


I 


i| 


48 


Leisure  Hours. 

Scarce  had  those  words  been  finished,  when 
His  daughter,  rushing  through  the  glen, 
Cried,  ''Father!  father,  it  is  I '  " 
And  lol  the  old  man  heaved  a  sigh. 


i 


/  ti 


The  man  turned  pale:  '^'Tis  hard  to  tell; 

And  from  his  hand  the  candle  fell. 

"  I  had  a  daughter  once,"  he  said, 

''  But  she  is  gone;  aye,  she  is  dead! 

A  serpent  came  and  stole  her  away, 

And  since  that  time  my  hair's  turned  gray. 

[  sought  her  long,  but  sought  in  vain ; 

No  Eveline  near  my  cottage  came. 

Vet  still  I  watched,  watched  every  night. 

Until  I  nearly  lost  my  sight. 

I  am  not  blind,  for  I  can  see 

My  daughter  Eveline's  face  in  thee. 

Come  in  and  tell  me  who  was  he 

Who  dared  to  take  thee  'way  from  me. 

But  stop:  am  I  half  mad  with  joy, 

Or  is  not  that  I  see  a  bov?" 


» > 


J 


T 


i% 


n 


» J 


i 


Leisure  Hours. 


49 


1 1  ] 


''Oh,  yes,  dear  father;  yonder  youth, 

If  I  must  tell  the  very  truth, 

Has  saved  my  life,  aye,  he  alone, 

And  in  the  strife  near  lost  his  own. 

He  is  a  hunter,  bold  and  gay. 

Who  braves  the  forest  night  and  day." 


IV 


"Come,  stay  thee  here,"  the  old  man  said  ; 

"Thou  need'st  repose,     (io,  lay  thy  head 

I'pon  yon  pallet:  'tis  the  best  I 

Our  humble  cot  affords  for  rest." 

Calmly,  yet  boldly,  I  followed  him 

Into  his  cottage,  neat  and  trim  ; 

And  then  1  saw  the  red  flames'  gleam  * 

Upon  the  face  of  Eveline. 

I  heard  her  tale:  'twas  sad  to  hear. 

And  from  my  eye-lids  brought  a  tear :  ]    ! 

And  then  she  turned  and  said  to  me,  ^    , 

"Juan,  I  owe  my  life  to  thee:  ' 


rr- 


;o 


Leisure  Hours. 


Yet,  how  can  I  repay  that  life?" 
[  answered,  "If  thou'lt  be  mv  wife. 


i! 


M 


V. 


The  maiden  bhished,  and  hung  her  head. 
The  old  man,  turning  to  her,  said, 
With  calm  and  aged  tone  of  voice: 
*'Mv  girl,  thou  canst  make  thy  choice, 
I)e  the  brave  young  hunter's  wife, 
And  then  live  ha|)|)y  all  your  life." 


\'  1  . 


V     ': 


')  ! 


A  tear  fell  from  her  mild  blue  eye, 
She  answered  me,  through  half  a  sigh. 

''I'm  yours,  Juan,  forever." 
She  said,  ''Oh!   father,  let  us  hear 
How  times  were  when  you  chased  the  deer 
And  how  you  haunted  every  nook, 
And  signed  your  name  to  every  brook. 
No  doubt  'twill  make  Juan  feel  glad 
To  think  he  's  such  another  lad." 


^ 

^ 


Leisure  Hours.  5  i 


\  1 1 


Her  father  bowed  his  hoary  head, 
And  Eva  made  the  fire  gleam  red. 
Then  he  said:    "  My  nol)le  youth, 
Remember  all  I  say  is  truth ; 
For  I  was  once  a  hunter  bold, 
And  cared  not  that  for  })uny  gold. 
But  hunted  out  in  every  gale." 
And  thus  commenced  the  old  man's  talc 


\-  I  I  I  . 

"•When  I  was  young,  and  hearty  too, 

A  lithesome  lad,  so  much  like  )ou, 

1  loved  to  roam  o'er  hill  and  dale, 

And  linger  long  in  every  vale; 

And  when  I  'd  hear  tlie  liunter's  horn, 

Sounding  loud  at  early  morn, 

I'P  I  'd  start  at  break  of  day. 

Off  to  the  mountains  I  'd  away,  ( 

And  seek  the  summit  of  each  rock,  \ 

Vo  watch  the  tbght  of  the  frightened  hawk  j 


52 


Leisure  Hours. 


I  \ 


Soaring  higli  al)ove  the  trees, 

And  floating  with  the  mountain  breeze. 


W 


I    i!=l 


IX 


*' And  when  1  'd  hear  the  panting  stag 
Bound  o'er  each  alternate  crag, 
I  'd  lay  nie  down  upon  the  ground 
To  hear  the  bay  of  the  distant  hound; 
Then  up  I  'd  spring  with  boyisli  glee. 
And,  like  the  hunter  gay  and  free, 
\\\Mild  hunt  the  stag  through  forest  lair. 
And  watch  his  every  bound  with  care. 
Then  when  he'd  stop  to  take  a  rest, 
]  'd  i)oint  my  rifle  to  his  breast. 
And,  when  1  'd  fire,  the  stag  would  fidl, 
Then  with  exulting  voice  I  'd  call: 
M  've  gained  the  day!   the  chase  is  mine! 
Hurrah!  hurrah!   for  Acadia's  clime ! 


X  . 


"At  last  the  hunter's  dogs  would  come. 
Running  towards  me  one  by  one; 


"I 


Leisure  Hours. 


53 


Then  t)iey  would  scent,  and  off  again. 
But  I  would  wait  till  their  master  came. 
And  when  he'd  ScW,  'Well,  Ned,  my  boy/ 
(For  that 's  the  name  they  knew  me  by,  j 
I  'd  say,  'What  ails  you  all  to-day? 
The  stag  has  kei)t  you  far  at  bay. 
But,  friend,  there's  time:  if  you  will  wait. 
You  '11  see  tiie  rascal  before  late.' 
•'Why  I  have  you  seen  him?  where  is  he? 
Is  he,  Neddy,  towards  the  Lee? 
I  '11  give  you  half  I  get,  if  you 
Will  show  me  where  the  stag  is  to.' 


XI  . 


"  '  Wha  ho:  old  cha]);  the  stag  is  dead: 
Think  you  he  could  pass  young  Ned? 
No,  no,  he's  gone;  I  've  shot  him.     See. 
Stretched  on  yonder  cliff  is  he.' 
Say  you  so?  why,  Ned,  my  boy. 
You  are  the  hunter's  i)ride'and  joy; 
Come  on,  my  lad,  take  yonder  nag. 
And  lead  him  gently  o'er  the  (rag.' 


ft 


54 


Leisure  Jlours. 


\  I  I 


"Then  on  we'd  totter  to  our  home, 

And  leave  the  hounds  to  hunt  idone ; 

lUit,  «:cming-  on  the  (lose  of  day, 

^\'e  'd  see  the  blood-hounds  homeward  stray. 

Merry  passed  the  day:   the  ni«^iit 

^Vould  bring  to  me  some  new  delight. 

J  \1  list  to  the  merry  hunter's  tale, 

As  he  ([ualTed  and  drank  the  warm  brown  ale. 

Thus  slowlv  would  the  iiours  [)ass  l)y. 

Until  at  length  he'd  sav  "(lood-bv.'" 


I' 


,';  i 


\  1  I  I  . 

I  could  not  stoj)  to  hear  the  rest  ; 
My  eves  grew  dim, — I  needed  rest. 
And  Eveline  knew  it,  and  she  said, 
'•Juan,  dear.  hurr\  off  to  bed: 
Say  you  not  so,  my  lather  dear? 
'Tis  time,  I  tliink  :    die  morn  is  near." 
1  smiled,  and  kissetl  m\   fair  one's  <  heek, 
.\n(l  hud  me  down,  for  1  was  weak. 


Leisure  Hours. 


55 


k 


XIV 


ay. 


ale. 


ik^ 


Next  morn  was  May  day.     (rirl  and  l)()y 

All  aronnd  were  mad  with  joy; 

May-flowers  here  and  there  were  strewn, 

And  from  the  woods  the  May-pole  hewn. 

Ribbons  of  the  brightest  hue. 

With  pretty  girls,  and  flowers  too : 

All  deck'd  the  May-pole  bright  and  gay. 

To  crown  the  happy  Queen  of  May. 

'I'he  hour  had  come:    't  was  time  to  see 

Who  that  happy  girl  should  be. 

The  bo}'s  would  cry,  ''Let  's  choose  bv  wit; 

The  one  who  answers  best  is  it." 

Soon  the  news  got  spread  around. 

The  little  lost  one  had  been  found; 

'Hie  boys,  in  joy,  all  kissed  the  girls, 

And  hoi)ped  around  bke  merry  stjuirrels: 

Hut  boys  and  girls  both  would  sa\ , 

"She  shall  be  the  Queen  of  May." 


XV. 


I'A'eline  came  to  me  and  said, 
"Come  and  ha\e  some  breaktast,  Ned. 


IT 


56 


Leisure  Hours. 


T 


M. 


To-day  the  village  will  be  gay ; 

Tliis  is  the  merry  month  of  Ma\  : 

The  boys  and  girls  dance  and  sing, 

And  all  the  village  Church  bells  ring: 

Hear  them  now;  come,  be  gay, 

\\'e  must  see  who's  the  Queen  of  May." 


XVI. 


II   '.' 


^\'e  ate,  and  when  our  meal  was  done, 

And  everything  was  cleared  and  gone, 

A  youth  came  to  the  cottage  door, 

And  in  his  hand  a  letter  bore. 

The  letter  was  to  Eveline, 

To  meet  her  playmates  on  the  green 

At  nine  o'clock  that  very  day, 

And  there  be  crowned  the  Queen  of  Ma\ 


X  \'  I  I 


When  Eva  took  the  note  and  read, 
She  ran  up  to  the  boy  and  said, 


■4 


Leisure  Hours. 

"Tell  my  })laymates,  1  '11  be  there, 
With  a  partner,  do  you  hear? 
The  one  who  saved  my  lite, — a  lad, 
(ray  and  lively,  never  sad. 
Can  you  doubt  me?     'I'here  is  he, 
!  Standing  right  before  you, — see. 

He  's  a  hunter  do  you  know, — 
Hunts  the  stag,  the  deer,  the  roe. 
Tell  them  all  I  said,  and  more, 
To  form  the  boys  in  four  by  four. 
Off  you  go,  now  ;  that 's  the  boy: 
A  father's  pride,  a  mother's  joy." 


WIN. 

The  feast  commenced  at  nine  that  day. 
And  FA'eline  and  I  made  way, 
In  silence,  towards  the  merry  spot, 
And  entered  in  the  summer  cot. 
Next  came  her  (^ourtiers  to  her  aid. 
And  in  her  hand  some  May-flowers  laid, 
Then  kissed  her  twenty  times  or  more, 
L'ntil  they  made  her  cheeks  (|uite  sore. 


57 


I 

I 


ii 


IT 


I, 


|i 


if 


;S  Leisure  Hours. 

Tlie  girls  all  gathered  round  the  bower. 
And  each  one  brought  some  pretty  flower; 
The  boys  came  marching  in  a  band, 
And  each  one  bearing  in  his  hand 
vSome  si<m  of  love  or  honor,  to 
I'air  Eveline,  their  loved  one,  who 
That  day  would  be  the  (^ueen  of  May, 
Antl  govern  all  their  youthful  i)la)'. 

XIX. 


1  % 


4 

■ 

i 

'J'he  band  c(Mnmenced  to  play  alone. 
As  P'iVe  ascended  to  the  throne. 
A  sniile  to  all,  she  then  sat  down, 
And  waited  for  tlie  bright  May-cro\\ii. 
She  did  not  have  to  wait  thus,  long, 
For  soon  there  came  the  village  throng. 
With  ribbons  gay,  and  boughs  of  green. 
To  welcome  home  their  young  May  Queen. 
And  thus  the  crowd  was  gathered  'round, 
With  anxious  eye,  to  see  iier  crowned. 
When  came  a  maiden,  young  and  fair. 
With  bright  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair: 


Leisure  Hours, 


59 


1. 


And  in  her  right  slie  held  a  wand, 
Which  she  pkiced  in  Kva's  hand. 
Next  came  a  lad  with  nut-brown  hair, 
Though  not  the  least  reseml)ling  fair: 
l>ut  still  the  lad  was  handsome,  and 
He  was  the  Captain  of  the  band: 
And  he  it  was  who  bore  the  crown. 
And  mantle  made  of  softest  down. 
Then,  lastly,  came  the  Parson,  J\)es, 
With  spe(^tacles  thrown  'c  ross  his  nose 
And  cluhikw  white  as  white  could  be. 
With  coat  as  tight  as  tight  could  be: 
Thus  solemn  was  the  dress  he  wore. 
And  in  his  hand  a  liible  bore. 
I  will  not  tell  nou  an\  more 
About  what  dress  the  others  wore. 
IJecause  my  time  I  must  not  waste. 
They  all  were  suited  to  their  taste: 
Some  wore  dresses  white  as  milk, 
Others  wore  the  gayest  silk. 
Thus  they  varied  dress  with  fancy. 
Like  the  two  names,  Uess  and  Nancw 


nr 


■MM 


I  i 


H 


ft 


II    i  u 
i 


1 


>   ? 


60 


Leisure  Hours. 


XX  . 

But  the  festival  began,  I  said  ; 

The  crown  was  placed  ui)on  her  head. 

And  she  was  made  the  happy  Queen, 

My  own,  my  sweetest  Eveline  I 

And  let  me  tell  you  she  was  gay, 

And  well  deserved  to  l)e  Queen  of  Ma\' ; 

For  when  she  rose  before  the  crowd, 

And  left  the  throne  and  to  them  bow'd, 

A  shout  of  joy  then  filled  the  air. 

And  she  resumed  the  royal  chair. 

The  band  struck  uj)  a  lively  tune, 

So  sweet, — for  me  'twas  done  too  soon. 

We  hunters  seldom  hear  the  like. 

Our  drum  and  fife  are  in  the  dyke. 

Or  on  the  mountain  to})s  or  crags 

Searching  for  the  moose  and  stags. 

Such  to  us  would  seem  a  show 

Of  Heaven:   it  did  to  me,  I  know. 

XXI. 

The  air  was  filled  with  music  sweet. 

As  they  marched  along  the  village  street ; 


il 


Leisure  Hours. 


6i 


And  Eveline  called  me  to  her  side, — 
Of  course  I  could  not  but  abide. 
The  march  was  short,  and  ended  soon  : 
'I'he  ceremony  was  done  at  noon, 
And,  as  the  day  was  sere  and  fine. 
We  sat  ui)on  the  grass  to  diiie. 
The  feast  went  on  so  well  and  LTtxjd — 
better  than  we  thought  it  would: 
And  then  they  ate  and  drank  with  <H^.^.. 
Their  hearts  were  light,  their  souls  were  free, 
Xo  sins  had  they  u[)on  their  mind, 
Xot  e'en  a  stain  of  any  kind. 
But  let  me  not  stray  from  m\  tale, 
Or  I  will  put  my  pen  in  jail. 
Ah  :  it  seems  to  take  the  hint. 
And  knows  it  's  writing  for  the  print. 


x\  I  I  . 

The  feast  was  (j'er,  the  fun  began 
'^[ongst  boys  and  girls,  woman  and  man 
All  joined  in  with  every  ganie: 
'Twas  onl\'  once  a  \ear  it  came: 

'5) 


rf    f 


()2 


jAisiirc   Hours, 


% 


K 


11 


^5 


\       1   il 


II    !  i 

■I, 


And  there  were  games,  and  sports,  and  races, 

And  nicrr\'  girls,  with  smiling  faces. 

'J'he  May-pole  dance  was  done  with  haste, 

JUit  showed  a  deal  of  skill  and  taste. 

Then  came  the  songs,  and  every  one 

Listened  when  the\   had  begun. 

1  will  not  mention  e\ery  song, 

'T  would  kee])  the  reader  much  too  long; 

1  '11  merely  say  we  i)assed  the  day 

[n  innocent  and  harmless  i)la\. 

'J  he  e\e  came  on:  we  had  our  tea: 

AIerr\' jokes  were  passing  free: 

'\\\<i  feast  Mas  done, 

And  ever\-  one 
^Venl  to  their  different  abodes. 

\  X  I  I  I  . 

Nine  months  had  ( ome  and  gone  again, 
\'et  l^ve  and  I  were  still  the  same: 
We  loved  each  other  more  and  more. 
(Ireater  than  we  did  before. 
Rumors  of  a  war  went  'round: 
Kach  man  was  to  stand  his  ground  : 


^ 


Leisure  J  fours. 


^>3 


I'S, 


Soldiers  meant  to  'uianl  tlieir  flair. 

I  refused  to  chase  the  stair. 

But  sou^dit  a  sword  among  the  rest. 

To  ])lunLre  into  some  l-renchman'^  breast. 

Many  hunters  from  afar 

Came  to  join  us  in  the  war. 

'J'lius  excited,  old  and    Nounsj- 

Armed  themselves  with  sword  and  gun; 

All  together  marched  awav 

'J\)  the  beat  of  drum  one  da\  : 

And  when  l">\a  saw  me  go. 

Fast  her  tears  began  to  tlow. 

And  her  sobs  were  loud  and  w  ild. 

Sobbing  like  a  little  child, 

Still  1  left  her  there  behind. 

With  my  heart,  my  soul,  and  mind. 

But  though  1  left  her  sobbing  there, 

I  was  too  weak  to  shed  a  tear: 

M\'  heart  was  cold  and  dead. 
A\'e  marched  that  night  and  all  next  day, 
'J'hrough  ])iles  of  snow  that  marr'd  the  wa\ . 
And  e\er\'  man 
Lo(jkM  pale  and  wan 
When  we  stoi)])M  on  the  fields  of  old  (Irand- 
Pre. 


i 


64 


Leisure  Hours. 


CANIO      TH  1R1> 


SIEGE    OE    GRANJ^-PRE. 


;'    ■ 
(    . 


U 


Ami  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed, 

The  mustering  siiuadnm,  and  ilie  chittering  car. 
Went  i)oiu-ing  fnrward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar  ; 

And  near,  the  beat  of  tlie  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  n\orning  star; 

While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  ihunh, 
( )r  whispering,  with  white  lips.  '  The  foe  I    They  come  I  tlicy 
Come  :  '  "  — IUkon. 

"  Hark  I  'lis  the  suunil  that  i:harni> 
I'lie  war-steed's  wakening  ears  I — 

(  )h  1  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 
Round  her  hoy-soldier,  when  that  call  she  hears, 
And  though  her  fond  heart  sinks  with  fears. 
Is  i)r(nid  to  feel  his  young  pulse  hound 
With  valour's  fervor  at  the  sound  ! 
See  I  from  his  native  hills  afar, 
'i'lie  rude  Acadian  tlies  to  war."  —  MociKi:. 


I. 


'A 


The  wind  was  higli,  the  snow  fell  dccj), 
And  the  soldiers  all  were  hiish'd  in  sleep 


ir 


*-_- 


i 


J  A' i sure   Hon  IS, 


H 


Save  at  tlic  gate,  (Icsjjite  tlie  cold. 
A  sentrv  stood,  both  voimix  and  bold: 
He  watched  with  anxious  eve  around. 
And  listened  well  to  every  sound: 
And  so  the  niglit  passed  on. 


I  I  . 


lev 


"r  was  early  morn,  'bout  half-i)ast  three, 
'I'hat  we  the  l''ren(hman's  flag  did  see. 
Floating  tree  at  musket  range, 
M'hough  it  seemed  to  us  (|uite  strange. 
Our  sentinels  ne'er  saw  them,  till 
Their  banner  tloated  o'er  the  hill. 
Then  all  was  still,  l)ut  tor  a  mimite: 
vSoon  each  heart  told  what  was  in  it: 
And  they  heard  our  loud,  long,  c  heer, 
Sounding  in  the  startled  air. 


II 


Our  Colonel,  'wakened  by  the  sound 
That  filled  the  chillv  air  around. 


T 


66 


Lei  sine  J  fours. 


ii   ' 


l!        t 


|l      I 


Sprang  like  a  tiger  from  his  bed. 
And  grasi)ed  his  sal)re  firm,  and  said: 
"  Renieml)er,  lads,  t()-da\-  we  fight 
With  (rod  tor  freedom  and  the  right." 
'Then  onward,  through  the  fier\'  field, 
IJrave  Noble  rushed  with  sword  and  shield, 
And  fought  his  way  far  up  the  glen, 
'Midst  bayonets  of  three  hundred  men. 
Kight  and  left  they  felt  his  stroke: 
l"\)remost  through  the  line  he  broke. 
Nor  did  he  stop,  to  spare  his  life, 
Nor  liinch  a  moment  from  the  strife: 
l)Ut  onward  still  he  fought  his  wa\-. 
Though  in  his  shirt  he  led  the  way 
And  thinned  their  ranks.    "Twas  man  to  man 
Then  the  strife  indeed  began. 


I  \ 


The\-  stood  ama/ed.  and  wondered  win 
( )ur  little  handful  did  not  (ly 
liefore  their  axe  and  sabre  stroke, 
Or  perish  in  the  tlame  and  smoke  : 


Leisitrc  J  fours, 


<<i 


And  one  by  one  our  soldiers  fell  : 
Still  we  fought  on,  and  fought  so  well, 
They  thought  it  vain  to  try. 


[  watched  brave  Noble  as  he  fought. 

And  how  he  gras[)etl  his  sword,  and  sought 

To  be  the  foremost  in  the  fight, 

Vox  1  was  kei)t  to  guard  the  height. 

And  I  heard  a  yell  ;   with  wonder. 

Saw  our  ranks  were  torn  asunder. 

Looked  for  Noble,  but  in  \ain, — 

Poor  man  I  he  ne\er  fought  again. 

For  lie  had  fallen  in  the  \an. 

Just  as  he  felt  the  strife  began. 

lUit  when  he  fell,  life  seized  ni\   frame: 
I  felt  my  soul  ( ome  ba(  k  again. 
F  seized  m\  sword,  and  rushed  ahead, 
.\ntl  fought  among  the  many  dead. 


I 


ij 


6<S 


Leisure  Hours. 


Again  tlie  deadl)  cliargc  was  made  : 
Aiiain  tliev  broke  our  ranks,  and  laid 
Another  Nol)Ie  at  their  feet. 
And  ruslied  along  the  \illage  street. 
Siisi)end  our  arms,  then  was  the  er\ 
Among  l)oth  armies.      I>y  and  bv 
'J'hey  did  so.  and  our  leader  (ame 
And  cried,  we  hold  the  tort  the  same. 


\  I  I . 


I    I 


"Twas  (la\d)reak,  and  the  soldiers  \\\\ 
Al)out  the  fields  of  old  (irand-Pre. 
Here  and  there  were  soldiers  King  ; 
Some  \\'ere  dead  and  some  were  d\  ing 
Dreatl  the  scene,  and  sad  to  see. 
.l)Mt  sadder  \et  it  was  lo  be, 
I'or  when  the  fiLiht  resumed  aijain 
How  man\'  more  would  thus  be  slain  1 
J  thus  was  thinking,  when  alone, 
J  heard  a  gra\e  unearthly  moan  ; 
And,  tiu'ning  round,  I  saw  a  man 
Rise  a  wliile  and  sink  again. 


^ 


Leisure  Jlours.  69 

I  ran  to  liim  and  raised  his  head, 
l)iit  lie  was  gone — yes,  lie  was  dead  ! 

\"  1  I  I  . 

Hark  !  that  bugle  calls  me  on 

'JV)  battle,  where  the  rest  have  gone  : 

When  hundreds  rush  at  its  connnand, 

Am  1  the  oniv  one  to  stand, 

1  cannot  I   will  not  1   must  not  stay — 

That  sound,  m\'  comrades,  I'll  obe\  ! 

(Juick  as  lightning,  off  1  ran. 

And  joined  m\'  comrades  in  the  \an. 


I  \ . 

'J'he  fight  commen(  ed, — a  deadl\  .slrile  : 

Kvery  man  fought  for  his  life — 

lafe  in  one  hand,  death  in  ih'  other  : 

'I'hus  we  fought  for  one  another  : 

And  oiu'  swords  were  gleaming  bright. 

Shining  through  the  mist)  light. 

A  rush  was  made  :   they  broke  our  iMuk. 

And  (lro\e  us  to  the  ba>in's  l)aid<  : 


m 


■  f 


•o 


Li'isuri-   Hours. 


.  r 

•I 


Some  went  one  way  and  some  the  other; 
Some  turned  and  fought,  and  fell  together, 
But  r  was  hemmed  :   L  could  not  fight, 
Nor  would  I  make  es(:a[)e  by  thght. 
L  then  gave  u[)  my  sword  to  them, 
But  swore  1  'd  take  it  up  again  : 
So  [  was  made  a  [)risoner — 
A  [)risoner  of  war. 


X. 


\ .. 


eUNLlASlON. 

The  b'renc  hmen  gained  the  day, 

And  the  fort  of  old  (Irand-l're 
( rave  u[)  to  them  the  hlood-red  cross  of  England  : 

And  they  kei)t  us  [)()or  lads  there; 

But  we  never  shed  a  fear. 
'I'ill  they  said  we'd  never  fight  for  bonny  l-aigland 


"■5^^^1 


Tnr.  PRisoxi'.K. 

I'liis  short  poem  is  connected  witli  tlie  last,  inasmuch  as  Edwin 
kutiiven,  having  been  made  a  prisoner,  was  taken  to  the  Chateau 
<les  Tumbeaux,  and  there  coufnied,  where  he  remained  for  seven  year- 
and  died. 

I. 


A  LAS!   liow  slow  in\-  (lrcar\  hours  pass  b\ 
^        In  this  lone  cell,  where  I  have  sat  for  years. 
Weeping  and  mourning  o'er  my  hitter  fate, 
And  seekiuLC  no  relief  save  that  of  tears. 
lUit  grief  to  me  has  now  grown  old  and  stale: 
Mv  tears  ha\e  lonu^  since  sunk  into  the  elav, 
And   there   remained.      1   tried  but  once,  since 

here. 
To  seek  for  liberty,  but  having  failed, 
I  tried  no  more.      My  chains  and  I  seem  com- 
rades ; 
So  we  are.      I  now  ha\e  grown  to  like  them. 
And  beliese  we  couhl  not  rest  asunder. 
Let  me  see  :   'tis  now.  if  I  think  well, 


T 


72 


J  A' is  tin'  Jloiirs. 


r  I 


TIk-  seventh  year  that  we  have  dwelt  togetlier. 
And  wliy  so?     AVhat  have  1  done  to  you 
That  you  should  bind  nie  thus?     Sj)eak,  if  nou 
can. 

And  tell  nie  what    Tve  done.      ''J' is  ))ast   your 

power ! 
1  once  was  so  that  1  could  master  ivv/. 
l)Ut  now,  aia^  :    't  is  strange  you  master  me. — 
"S'ou,  whose  ])ahry  frame  I  fashioned  out. 
And   made  you  what  you  are.      Why  bind  your 

maker? 
Know  you,  these  frail  hands,  so  tighth  bound. 
Once  fought  in  freedom's  field,  and   those  weak 

limbs. 
That    crack    beneath   your  weight,   oiKe   leaped 

with  jow 
])Ut  now,  alas!    't  is  done:   no  more  1  '11  roam 
O'er  the  bright  green  fields  and  a/ure  hills. 
That  once  1  called  m\  home. 


i  I . 


l)Ut  why  should  1  thus  mourn  it? — 'i  is  m\   fate. 
And  Heaven  has  willed  it  so.      I  must  obeN. 


^ 


Leisure  i fours, 


7 


I  would  that  Heaven  had  willed  that  I  should  die, 
Hefore  the  hour  that  made  nie  thus  a  sla\e. 
Ah,  me!   that  moon,  with  sudi  a  hai)i)v  tiu  e, 
Kides  \\vjy  up  in  the  Heavens,  and  it  smiles 
As  if  to  scoff  at  me.      Oh,  happy  heini;! 
I'hou  little  knowest  how  sad  1  feel  to-dav; 
Still  thou  canst  not  helj)  me:    \et  thou  canst, 
If  thou  but  curl)  that  smile,  and  pitv  me 
As  I  would  thee  wert  thou  but  in  w\\  i)lace. 
[  then  would  feel  a  thousand  times  more  free, 
And  think  that  Hea\en  had  taken  \\\)  mv  cause. 


Ah  I   once  ii])on  a  time,  in  happier  (la\s. 

When    l^ULiland's    blood  -  red    banner    rocle    the 

\\a\e. 
Where  IJlomidon  now  standi  there  stood  a  fort, 
i)Ut  it  has  Ion*;-  sine  e  perished,  so  't  is  said, 
And  those  who  once  fouiiht    there  are   most    all 

dead  ; 
Still  I  am  left,  perhaps,  to  tell  the  tale: 
And  well  I  can,  for  1  remember  well 
''I"  was  on  a  wintr\   nii^ht,  when  all  ;ilone. 


T 


74 


LcisfDc   Hours. 


H 


I  stood  ii])()n  the  heights  of  lUomidon. 

'l"he  moon,  if  nicni'rv  fails  nie  not,  was  bright. 

And  shed  a  silvery  lustre  o'er  the  snow. 

The  wind  tVoni  olT  the  waters  blew  ([uite  (hill, 

AN'hich  made  my  young  heart  tremble,  and  1  saw 

r|)on  the  other  hill  a  grouj)  of  men. 

Piearing  another  banner:    't  was  the  J-'rench  1 

\\'h()se  numbers,  soon  increasing  more  and  more. 

Alarmed  me,  and  I  ga\ethe  word  "to  arms," 

Which  brought  a  hundred  soldiers  to  the  height. 

Our  guns  were  mann'd,  a   bloo(l\   tight   ensued. 

In  which  we  poor  Acadians  were  subdued. 

And  1  was  in  this  murk\  dungeon  cast. 

Ne\er  tt)  be  tVee  till  death  would  break  m\  chains. 


[./  hi  I'll  cJurps.'\ 


I'  \  I 

f    !1 


1. 


AN'hat  Heavenly  sound  is  that?   it  broke  so  clear 
l'i)on  mv  flimsv  brain,  that  llrst  methouudit 
An  angel  whispered  in  my  ear,  but  now 
1  see  I  was  mistaken  :   't  was  a  bird  ! 

.\n  air\  thing 
'Hiat  soars  as  high  as  Heaven  will  ))ermit 
And  then  retm-ns,  with  lightsome  heart,  and  rests 


Leisure  Ifoiiis. 


i  ? 


Its  weary  self  ii])()n  these  gra\  old  walls. 

Come,  geiule  angel,  ( oiiie. 
And  sing  another  song  :  it  niakes  niv  heart 
Jveap  as  it  did  some  se\en  \ears  ago 
When  I  was  free,  hut  now — cease,  nature.  (ea>e. 
Thou  wert   not  born  for  that  :    those  damp  gra\ 

walls 
'I'hat  form  thy  church  and  dwelling  place, 


Also  form  thy  grave 


[//  chirps  a\^ain.'\ 


Hea\ensl    how  sweet  it  sing>  to  me.  and  sj)eak> 

As  if  to  (-omfort  me.  \et  all  itN  notes 

l'"all  like  mem'ry  on  ni}'  sickened  heart  : 

lM)r  when  1  think  of  all  the  hajipN   hours 

I  spent  among  those  birds  uj)on  the  mouniaius. 

^\'aiting  and  watching  tor  the  stars,  it  make>; 

My  poor  heart  sink  within  m\  breast. 

\w(\  yet  how  strange:  to  think  that  at  this  houi' 

.\  bird  should  enter  in  m\  (cll.  and  sin^ 

Notes  of  comfort.  e\en  notes  ol  io\  ;  but  hiish  — 

it  sings  again  I 


[  Tlw  l>irJ  iliirps  tlic  tliird  time  and  tlhii  flies  a-i^'a\\ 


T 


76 


Ldsurt'   Hours, 


\ 


Can  it  l)c  that  (irod  has  sent  it  here 
'l\)  be  the  conitbrt  of  so  low  a  l)eing? — 
A  prisoner — despised  by  all  that  's  good. 
The  tViend  ot"  misery,  the  sla\e  of  death. 

And  must  I  heliese 
Ihat  such  a  happy  being  would  sink  so  low 
To  \\his[)er  words  of  comfort  to  a  sla\e? 

[.7  /v/i^'/r  soiiiii/s.^ 

Hark  !    what  sound  is  that  ?      It  seems  to  me 
lake  something  I  have  heard  before;    it  is 
'L1u'  trumpet  of  the  midnight  hour,  and  )et 
There's  something  in  the  (all  that  I  ha\e  heard 
When  on  the  heights  of  Hlomidon  !     Again — 


It  s[)eaks  a  (  learer  tone  the  second  time — 
1  know  it  now,  it  rings  m\-  \er\'  heart. 
The  bugle  that  once  lured  me  on  before 
Speaks  out  again,  and  calls  me  to  m\  post. 
Rise!   rise  I   my  sullen  soul,  and  gi\e  me  life; 
W'liy  slumber,  when  you  hear  your  ( ountr}-  call 
For  hell)?      Rise,    rise,    1   sav!    and   seize   Nour 
nati\e  frame. 


Leisure  Hours. 


Ti 


Put  life  in  every  nerve  that  J  may  share 

The  honor  of  our  freedom:   ah:   well  done, 

I  feel  another  man;   my  feehle  form 
Feels  stronger  by  a  thousand  times,  and  \et 
[  cannot  move  beneatli  these  heavv  chains: 
They  cling  so  to  my  limbs,  my  arms,  my  waist. 
And  bid  me  not  dare  move  :  and  my  proud  heart 
Leaps  with    the  thought   of    j)cing   on.  e   more 

free. 
Onward,  brave  comrades,  onward,  for  our  cause 
[s  good,  and  Heaven  speaks  for  us  :    I  '11  be  free  : 
The  very  birds  sing  freedom  in  their  way. 
And  so  w  ill  I :  oh  (iod  :  would  I  were  with  them  I 
IJut  't  is  vain  to  hoi)e. 


\^A  great  noise  outside,   J'ij'e  I'Aeadie :^ 

ivind  pity,  how  my  heart  jumps  at  those  wonls: 
'The  very  air  around  it  grows  (|uite  chill. 
Hark  !  how  the  trumpet  sounds  along  the  ^hore. 
The  voice  of  freedom  spreads  itself  afar! 
The  ( hains  that  once  were  dead  are  now  ali\e. 
And  those  who  sank  beneath  them  now  are  free. 
Save  this  cold  piec  e  of  clav  :  but  ho!  what 's  that  ^ 

(6) 


7^^ 


Leisure  Hours. 


1  heard  tlic  v()i(  e  of  some  one  call  my  name  : 
My  prison  door  is  open,— thanks.      But  who's 

this? 
Speak,  man:    what  want  you  here?    I  know  you 

not : 
You  are  to  me  a  stranger,  and  your  clothes 
Denote  you  are  not  of  our  band;  si)eak  cpiiek, 
Or  come  not  anear !     Stand  off!   stand  back,  1 


sav 


.  t 


^Hc  is  fircii  at.'\ 


Oh  Ood  :  I'm  shot  : 
My  brain  whirls  round,  I   feel,  my  head  grows 

light  ; 
1  die,  I  die  a  prisoner  and  a  slave! 


^\^.fg[\^J^ 


p 


MfDNIGHT  MASS    IX   MOXTREAL 

COLLEGE. 


"  lull  ye  the  clnin  li-l)ell  sad  and  slow. 
And  tread  softly  and  speak  low  , 
For  the  old  year  lies  a-dying." — 'i'i:NNVS(iN. 


I. 

T_T  ARK   to  the  silver)-  tones  of  tlie  (  himes  as 

thev  rini(  from  the  belfrv: 
Hark  to  their  mystical  notes  as  they  break  on  the 

liush  of  the  evening. 
Softly  they  tell   to   the  ])eoi)le  the  birth  of  the 

infant  Redeemer, 
As  the  angel,  in  times  gone  by,  to  the  Shei)her(U 

who  watched  on  the  mountains. 
Slowly,  with  reverend  mien,  the  throng  nears  the 

College  and  C'hai)el, 


8o 


Leisure  Hours. 


,  .1 


Making  tlicir  way  through  the  snow,  as  it  tails  in 

a  mist  by  the  wayside. 
There,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  surrounded 

l)v  tVuit  trees  of  all  kinds, 
Covered  with  Hakes  of  snt)w,  and  o'erlooking  the 

city  beneath  it, 
Stands,  like  "the  K(hk  of  ages."  the  seat  ot  the 

holy  Suipitians. 
Soon,  from  its  antitjue  windows,  illumined  with 

figures  t)f  angels. 
Streamed  out  a  brilliant  retlection  that  stretched 

itself  half  o'er  the  meadow, 
(living  a  silvery  tint  to  the  sp>)w.  as   it  gleamed 

on  the  tree-tops ; 
When,  from  the  sacred  old  Chapel,  a   gush   of 

sweet  music  ascended. 
That    struck  to   my  heart    like   the  sounil  of   a 

thousand  of  angels  s-    iphic, 
Slowlv   I  'rose  from   my  seat,  and   tm-ning  my 

steps  to  tile  College, 
I  marched  with  the  rest  of  the  throng,  and  we 

entered  the  Chapel  together. 
There,  at  the  head  of  the  aisle,  stoocPthe  (  ril), 

and  around  it  were  standing 


♦  \ 


n 


Leisure  Hours. 


81 


'J'hc  men  of  tlic  Kast,  with  tlic  Shcj)licr(ls.  an  ass 

anil  a  couple  of  oxen, 
AN'liilc  at  the  right  sat  the  X'irgin,  wlio  ga/ed  on 

the  source  of  attrac  tion. — 
(la/.ed  on  tliat  object  of  lo\e,  a  Noung  infant,  tlie 

Saviour  of  mankind  : 
Tlien  'rose  tlie  Priest  to  the  ahar.  and  lifting  his 

eyes  u])  to  Heaxen. 
He  blessed   us,    " ///  noiuine  /\ifr/s,   cf   /•////.  cf 

Spirifi/s  Sitficfi. 


I  I 


SI  owl  V  the  altard)o\s  (  ame.  two  by  two.  in  a  line, 

and  surrounded 
And  knelt  b\'  tlv  steps  of  the  altar,  vm  \\  bcaiing 

a  glimmering  taper. 
Received    ihey   the    hol\    Priest's   blessing,   and 

risii'g-  the\   marclu'd  to  ihcir  phu  es. 
Making  a  low  genulle«lion  w  lu-n  jKissing  the  <  rib 

of  tile  Infant. 
( )h  !  what  a  he;i\er,ly  sound,  when  three  hundred 

stentorian  \oi( cs 


T 


82 


Li' i sure  Hours. 


Mingled   their   martial    at  cords    in    the   silvery 

Kyric  K  lei  son  ! 
Then  did  the  strength  of  religion  sink  deej)  in 

my  heart  as  I  listened, 
And  heard,  with  a  reverend  awe,  the  voices  that 

echoed  in  Heaven. 
Oh!   who  would  not  love  to  be  there,  'mid  such 

glory  and  music  incessant  : 
There,  in  the  presence  of  (lod,  with  a  thousand 

of  lights  burning  'round  us; 
'There,  as  a  tribute  of  love,  the  odor  of  incense 

ascended  ; 
There,  in  the  ])resence  of  all,  stood  the  Saviour 

Himself  on  the  altar. 


1 1 


f-o!   with  a  holy  devotion  rose  the  Priest,  and  he 

mounted  the  altar, 
And  sang  with  a   tremulous  voice  that   sounded 

throughout  the  whole  chajiel  ; 
Slowly   the   choristers   answered    and    sang    the 

resiKjnses,  an<l  suddeidy 


j 


Leisure  Hours. 


«3 


All  was  as  silent  as  death,  when  loud  the  Ai/esfe 

fideles 
Rang  through  the  aisles  of  the  (.'hapel  and  out  ii\ 

the  air  of  the  morning. 
Oh,  what  a  heavenly  sight  to  behold!    full  some 

three  hundred  \  oices 
Raised  in  a  body  to  (lod,  in  the  midst  of  ^U(  U 

splendor  and  glory, 
Praising   His   holy   name,    and    returning    Him 

thanks  on  His  birthday. 
Oh  !  if  with  words  I  could  tell  half  the  throbs  of 

my  heart  at  that  moment, 
.Vs  my  Saviour  lay  there  in  a  nianger,  wrai)[)ed 

in  the  clothes  of  an  infant; 
'['he  thoughts  that  then  rushed  to  my  mind,  filled 

my  tremulous  heart  with  emotion 
'I'hat  flowed  o'er  my  trt)ubled  soul  like  balm  on 

the  wounds  ^){  the  wounded. 


I  \  . 


The   Rc^ia  Missa  was  done,  when  some   three 
hundred  students  assembled. 


<S4 


Leisure  Hours. 


V 


And  rL'(  cived  llio\  thcHol) Communion  from  tlie 

liands  of  ihc  Priest  at  tlic  railings; 
Then   rising  with   solemn  composure,   re])cated 

with  fer\ent  dexotion 
An  a(  t  of  thanksgi\ing,  then  formed  in  a  brilliant 

and  gorgeous  procession. 
Then     followed     the    young     Seminarians,    the 

Tonsured,  Suh-deacons  and  Deacons, 
As   the   She])herds,  in   times  of  old,  wheri   the\ 

left  their  hertls  on  the  mountains. 
To  follow  the  Angel  of  (iod  to  the  stable  where 

laid  the  Redeemer, 
W  rapi)i'd  up    in    swaddling  <  lothes  and  exjjosed 

in  a  manger  at  Uethlehem. 
SlowK  the\  entered  the  \  estr\ .  eac  h  bowing  when 

pa^^ing  the  altar, 
I'ntil  not  a  nouI  oI    fi\e  hundred   reuiaine<l  save 

tlu-  (  hoir  and  the  'teopie. 
Then,  lastl\.  the  jjcople  aro>,e.  and.  Iea\  nig  the 

Chajtel.  proceeded 
Along  through  the  ^now  to  the  <  it\ .  and.  turning. 

they  scattered  asunder. 
<  )h  !    man\  .1  lime   ha\e    1    thought,   as    1   sat   all 

alone  b\   the  fu'eside. 


Lcisitrt'  .I/(>itrs. 


8s 


And  gazeil  on  the  fli(  k'^ring  l)lazt'  tliat  ascended 

part  way  up  the  chimney, 
or  the  cold,  chilly  Christmas  eve.  when  ihe  wind 

from  the  noble  St.  Lawrence 
Swept  o'er  the  snow-covered  fields,  and  fought 

with  the  trees  in  the  forest. 
Kver,  while   UK-mory   lasts   me.  the   thoughts  ot 

that  night  shall  I  <  herish  : 
Kver,  as  long  as  thi>  world  of  (are  will  revolve 

on  its  axis ; 
Kver,  as  long  as  the  >\\\\  will  (ontinue  to  shine 

with  its  glory  : 
So  >hall  my  heart  ever  sigh  for  that  night  that  1 

s])ent  in  the  college. 


T 


/JX/<S  ox  TffE  nCRXfyCr  OFSTRAS- 
nURG    CAT///': ORAL. 

Having  read  an  account  of  the  burning  of  Strasburg  Calhcilral  \\\ 
■  'ue  of  the  daily  papers  of  this  city,  the  idea  occurred  to  me  that  it 
would  form  a  fit  subject  for  a  poem  ;  since  then  I  have  learned  that  it 
lias  not  been  so  much  injured  as  I  had  supposed.  I'he  rest  exiilaiiis 
uself.  I  have  tried  to  represent  the  feelings  of  the  French  umier  the 
<  ircumstances,  aiul  therefore  any  words  which  may  otherwise  appear 
iiarsh,  will,  I  hope,  be  readily  pardoned. 

1. 

A  RISK,  yc  poor  forsaken  Im-cik  Imien  ! 
(la/e  on  yonilcr  burning  spire: 
Sec  the  consecrated  mansion, 
In  a  mass  of  Hame  and  lire! 


M 


Dwelling  place  of  (lod  and  angels, 
Mdce_^\vhere  sainted  feet  oft  trod, 

Place  where  hands  of  IMiests  anointed 
Lifted  up  the  Host  fo  (iod. 


Leisure  Hours. 


87 


1 1 


Ah,  we  cannot!     Sec  the  bomb-shells 
And  the  bullets,  how  they  lly  ; 

Sec  the  many  thousand  Prussians 
Raising  u^)  their  ( eascless  cry. 


I  V. 


I' ear  them  not,  preserve  your  courage, 
Hold  nloft  the  blessed  cross  ; 

Ask  of  (iod  and  Heaven  to  help  you: 
Then  He  will  redeem  vour  loss. 


"I'is  too  late, — our  power  is  useless; 

l*russians  swarm  on  every  side; 
And  the  tbrce  we  use  against  them 

Seems  to  serve  them  as  a  guide. 


\  I . 


Arise,  arise,  the  llames  are  raging! 

Look  !  they  catch  the  massive  door. 
And  tearing  from  its  mighty  hinges, 

Whirl  it  into  nevermore. 


^ScS 


Incisure  Hours. 


A 


\   I  I 


Oil,  we  cannot!  Count  their  legions. 
Thick  as  rain  drops  as  they  fall, 

As  they  swarm  by  thousands  round  us, 
Bathing  us  with  shot  and  ball. 


\  I  I  I , 


<)n(e  you  drank  the  tup  ofglorv. 
With  su(  h  joy  as  none  can  tell  : 

lint  since  nou  've  become  ajiostates. 
Now  you  feel  the  powers  of  Hell. 

'The  minster:   oh.  the  minster!   sa\e  it. — 
Save  it  e'er  the  llames  haveswa\ed: 

Jf  all  human  power  a\ails  not. 
( 'all  on  ( iod's  Almigln-  aid. 

X. 

Stoj)  the  tlames — they  "nc  reached  the  belfrv 
.\0^(\  more  water — raise  the  hose! 

"1"  is  the  house  of  (lod  that,  hurniup. 
Sinks  beneath  the  lu'e  of  toes. 


T^l 


Leisure   Hours. 


89 


\  I 


f 


Cast  aside  your  false  believings, 
He  ye  Infidels  no  more  ; 

If  you  don't  the  (  urse  of  Heaven 
Falls  upon  you  evermore. 


XII. 


Who  can  paint  th'  eternal  sorrow 
Of  that  suffering  nation  now? 

Stripped  of  all  its  ancient  glory. 
And  to  strangers  forced  to  bow. 


XIII. 

( )h  :   ye  holy  Saints  and  Martyrs, 

Kver  blessed  sons  of  France, 
Look  ye  down  upon  your  countr\  1 

Prav  for  its  ileli\erance. 

\i  V  . 

Let  a  host  of  i)rayers  be  offered, 
That  mav  sound  from  pole  to  pole  ; 

Lei  us  ask  of  (lod  above  us, 
In  the  name  of  every  soul  : 

"  Salvos  fae  iios  :   Doinine 


T 


A  J.ETTKR. 


III 
i 


I        V 


TO    MN     IKIKM),    JOHN    KITrHIK. 

IJturr  /•)  it'll (/ : 

T  'M  sleepy,  yet  I  'in  sitting 

With  my  pen  in  my  hand, 
Reading  o'er  the  i)oem  I  've  written 

On  ''Tm:   Pook   lii.iND  Man;  " 
And  the  lamp  is  burning  dimly, 

i'or  the  want  of  oil, 
While  the  lire  plays  up  the  (  himnev 

NN'ith  a  i)]easant  smile. 
Oh,  how  lonesome!   hear  the  clock  tick, 

( >n  the  mantel-piece. 
And  its  lonely  Joch-iiic/^,  Jock-iiick, 

Seems  will  never  cease. 
So  now  1  think  1  must  conclude, 

The  hours  are  slii)ping  hy: 
Let  this  close  my  short  interlude; 

N'our  dear  friend — John, 

( lood-l)ve. 

May  Jyf/t,  1870. 


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\ 


TO  ELLA, 


\ 


/^H,   tell  me,  has  al)sence  o'ersliadowed  the 

^^  l)ast, 

Or  the  love  that  yuu  once  bore  for  me 

lleen  commingled  with  jealousy,  which,  to  the 

last. 
Hangs  around  thy  soft  heart  once  so  free? 
(Jh,  I  cannot  believe  that  a  lady  so  fair 
As  my  Ella,  could  ever  forget 
The  one  who  has  loved  her  till  life  could  not  tear 
The  love  which  he  bears  for  thee  \et. 

February  iJ^th,  1870. 


-"^V- 


)^ 


^^-- 


JNSJVER    TO   SOME   SARCASTIC 
VERSES  BY  J.  P.   CLARK. 

T   THANK  you,  my  friend,  for  that  ])iece  of 

'*•  your  mind, 

And  assure  you  your  muse  was  of  extra  fine  kind  ; 

(7) 


1 

(| 

>;1     M 


Mi 


94 


Leisure  Hours, 


^^'llen    your    i)en(  il    rolls    over   a   few    of  those 

piec  es, 
Your  mind   often   sto[)s.   but   your  heart   never 

ceases 
'I'o  gras])  at  sarcasm  that  indignantly  flows 
From  the  seat   of  )()ur  heart   to  the  to])  of  vour 

nose. 


"J' is  no  wonder  you  've  caused  su(  h  a  noise  in 

the  school : 
1  '\e  remarked  it  the  way  of  most  every  fool : 
Your  [)altry  old  poems  are  the  rage  for  a  time, 
])Ut  they  soon  die  away  for  the  want  of  good 

rhyme. 
As  a   friend   1  'd  advise  voii   to  (b-oi)  off   vour 

punning, 
And  turn  your  ideas  into  something  more  cun- 
ning. 


Hi 


iii 


m 


TO  Li/yjE,  OX  m:R  iurthday. 

IMPROMl'l  [•. 

TTIORI'/S  to  drink  thy  health,  dear  Ia'//ie, 

\\'ith  a  ghiss  of  ginger  ale. 
Warm  and,  dear  me,  oh:   how  friz/\, 
Neither  lets  me  weep  nor  wail. 

Man_\-  men  who  drink  their  brandy, 

Do  not  feel  so  gay  as  1, 
For  my  ginger  ale,  so  handy. 

Rises  11])  and  makes  me  spr\ . 

Now  'tis  gone  T  feel  so  funnv: 

If  you  drank  it  so  would  vou  : 
Next  they  ask  me  where  's  m\-  money  : 

I  tell  them  they  can  charge  that  too. 

'Jo-day's  your  birthday,  so  you  told  me; 

l>ut  what  changes  since  that  time! 
1  've  grown  older,  and  behold  me 

Floating  into  things  divine. 

July  \>^th,  1870. 


! 


^Ifi 


li  S    Hi 

•li  m 


t>.     '< 


IMPROMPTU  AT  AN  FA' EN  IN  G 

PARTY. 

/^^OME,  pass  the  wine  around,  my  boys, 

^^    *  Before  we  go  away, 

And  have  one  glass  at  parting,  boys, 

To  greet  the  coming  day. 
'llien  here  's  a  glass  in  friendship,  boys, 

To  soothe  each  other's  pain, 
That  we  may  live  in  peace,  my  ])oys, 

Until  we  meet  again. 

LINES    ON   PRESENTING    A     LADY 
WITH  MY  PICTURE. 


''X'  IS  a  paltry  affair 
^    1 


1iat  is  offered  you  here, 


i 


Leisure  Hours. 


97 


Though  I  wish  in  my  heart  it  were  better ; 

Yet  still  with  a  sigh, 

I  must  only  reply, 
'T  would  be  hard  to  get  more  in  a  letter. 


tM^-^ 


L/XES   WRITTEX  ON  A  VALENTIXE 
TO  MISS  CARRIE  R ]'. 

OUCH  music  as  one  hears  from  you, 
^   Was  never  heard  before 
From  Coote  or  Hayden  ;  even,  too. 
You've  beat  the  milkv  Moore. 


By  rattbng  'mong  your  Hats  and  slKiri)s, 

'I'hat  sound  so  very  Hue  : 
They  've  charmed  full  many  a  dozen  hearts. 

l)Ut  never  will  charm  mine. 


i  J 


i 


'sN    '^  .'£/   1\ 


ii      't 

I  n 


LINES, 

ON     JiKIXd     I'RKSKXTKI)    Wl'IH     AN     IVORV    SILVKR- 
:^I()rXlKl)     l»OCKKT-15()OK. 

'T^HIS  present,  dear  sir,  is  a  token  which  tells 
me 

You  do  not  forget  a  good  turn  when  't  is  done, 
And  believe  me,   ni)-  friend,  but  your  kindness 

comi)els  me 
To  show  you  1  'm  grateful  in  more  ways  than  one. 


so 


Let    this    pocket-book,    shining   with    silver   ^ 

bright, 
Ever  rest  on  my  mind  when  I  'm  far.  tar  away. 
And  when  opening  its  pages  to  draw  or  to  write, 
May  thy  face  be  as  fresh  in  my  mind  as  to-daw 


TO  ANNA. 

A"\mV  fret,  Anna? 
Tell  me,  truly, 
Is  it  kne  that  makes  you  wee})? 

[  'm  sure  I  never 

Thought  }ou  'd  e\er 
Sigh  for  him  you  couldn't  keep. 

He  was  handsome, 

But  what  of  it? 
There  are  many  more  as  good  : 

V'es,  there 're  many, 

liOvely  Annie, 
That  would  love  vou  if  the\  (  ould. 


Believe  me,  dearest, 

What  I  tell  \'ou 
Is  not  meant  to  make  you  fret; 

But  to  warn  you 

Those  who  scorn  vou 
Will  kneel  down  and  crave  vou  vet. 


i    3 


ft 


m.M&m^m 


m 


EPITAPH  ON  MY  SISTEP. 

"[^''NEEL  gently  on  this  bed  of  clay, 

And  offer  up  one  little  prayer; 
'T  will  serve  you  at  some  future  day, — 
A  mother's  love  is  buried  here. 

The  lily  and  the  rose  combine 
Their  odors  o'er  this  sacred  bed, 
While  nature  makes  a  brother  pine, 
For  here  the  one  he  loved  lies  dead. 

L  EVES  J  J  PEPTEN  IX  AX  A  LB  I  \M 

iMPROMrri:. 

'T^HLS  album  that  you  offer  me, 

I  take  with  great  delight, 
I  kit,  on  my  word,  there's  [)Overty 
In  every  thing  I  w^ite ; 


Leisure  Hours. 


lOT 


For  when  I  look  at  its  contents. 

And  read  each  happy  line, 
'Tis  with  reluctance  1  assent 

To  add  a  verse  of  mine. 

Still,  dearest  friend,  with  fortitude 

I  write  these  lines  to  you. 
Hoping,  though  my  verse  be  crude. 

You  '11  find  me  ever  true. 
There  are  two  lines  that  I  would  write, 

Before  1  sign  my  name: 
That  is,  as  friends  we  are  to-night. 

We  ever  will  remain. 

Noz't')nl<er  12,  1870. 


••■/.^ 


W^f^-' 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

MY  friend,  you  've  been  so  very  kind, 
I  '11  write  you  this  small  lay. 
For  oh  :  there  's  weight  upon  my  mind 
The  lousier  I  delay. 


I02 


Leisure  Ifours. 


So  now,  as  not  to  cause  a  doubt 

Of  how  I  prize  a  friend, 
I  Ml  try  my  best  to  fashion  out 

Some  lines  which  soon  must  end. 


'  'I' 


r  is  true  I  've  promised  thrice  or  more 

To  pen  you  some  small  verse, 
lUit  those  [  've  written  heretofore 

Are  most  of  them  dispersed. 
Some  1  lost,  and  more  I  burned, 

And  others,  dear  knows  what, 
I^ut  of  the  wMiole  both  lost  and  l)urned, 

This  one  is  all  1  've  ijot. 


-SVW 


^C^WcNej" 


I  '! 


TO  ANNIE. 


A^^HEN  reading  o'er  my  i)altry  verse, 

Of  course  you  '11  think  of  me. 
But  when  you  think,  please  intersperse 
A  few  remarks  of  glee ; 


Leisure  J  fours. 


103 


For  if  there  is  a  happy  hour 
In  this  wide  world  of  care, 

"r  is  when  I  think  of  you,  my  flower, 
My  own  sweet  Annie  dear. 

A  few  short  lines,  to  make  you  laugh, 

Would  play  a  better  part 
Than  telling  how  love's  epitaph 

Is  written  on  my  heart. 
1  might  have  known,  ])oor  fool  I  am, 

That  you  do  n't  like  such  stiilT, 
So  now,  I  '11  stop,  my  little  lamb, 

I  think  you've  had  enough. 


DDK  TO  THE  UFA 


/^H  !  sweet  lily,  fair  and  white, 
^^^   Opening  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
Praise  that  Spirit,  pure  and  bright, 
Who  gave  thee  birth  amid  the  clay. 


=«« 


J04 


Leisure  Hours, 


He  made  thee  pure,  like  Him,  and  fair. 
And  placed  thee  on  this  lovely  hill, 
And  from  thy  mouth  one  little  prayer 
Would  bring  thee  i)erfumes  greater  still. 


1864. 


^©C 


)@/- 


rO  HANNAH. 

WRIT'IEN   JN    HKk  AI.IUM,   NOVKMIiKk   IS'IH,    1870. 

'T^O  oblige  you,  my  friend,  is  a  jjleasure 
That  is  very  much  welcomed  by  me, 
Though  you  ask  me  to  write  at  my  leisure 
Let  that  leisure  immediatelvbe. 


'  r  is  not  alwavs  I  feel  in  the  humor, 

Though  perhaps  't  is  my  wish  that  I  should; 

For  there  's  sometimes  I  think  I  could  sooner 
do  saw  at  a  cord  of  hard  wood. 


I 


Leisure  Hours. 


lo: 


So  now  that  I  'm  here  I  '11  endeavor 
To  scribble  you  some  little  lay  ; 

Let  it  be  that  our  friendship  may  ever 
Be  as  firm  and  sincere  as  to-day. 


70. 


er 


THE  HUNTER'S  MORNING  SONG 

[Set  to  music  by  the  author,  j 


o 


H !  look  to  the  golden  west, 
See  the  sun  has  gone  to  rest 
'Neath  his  arch  of  gold, 
And  his  azure  mold. 
Out,  out  on  the  ocean's  breast. 

CHORUS  : 

For  I  am  a  hunter  bold, 
And  I  care  not  that  for  gold, 
lUit  I  love  to  roam 
From  my  [)leasant  home. 
To  the  mountains  high  and  (xjld. 


io6 


Leisure  Hours. 


But  give  me  my  own  dear  land, 
With  its  hills  and  lakes  so  grand ; 

And  I  cast  aside, 

To  the  ocean  wide. 
All  the  gold  I  can  find  in  the  land. 


|]is. 


CHORLS: 

For  I  am  a  hunter  bold, 
And  1  care  not  that  for  gold ; 
[  But  I  lo\e  to  roam 

j  From  my  ])leasant  home, 

l  To  the  mountains  high  and  cold. 


MORAL. 

A     MAN  is  not  always  inclined  to  do  good. 
Although  it  is  written  that  always  he  should. 


F  I  N  /  S  . 

'■  'T'HK  book  is  completed, 

And  closed  like  the  day, 
And  the  hand  that  has  written  it 
Lays  it  away." 


mmmmmm 


X  or  Ks 


•/ 


A(  APIA,    MV    HoMi:    l!Y     IHK    Sl'.A, 

Page  13.  1  am  not  the  autlmr  nf  tlii-  iiocni.  nor  am  1  at  lil/crtv 
ti)  tell  his  name. 

Kissing  Bkiik;i;. 

Page  15.  A  little  stone  l)rid,ye  near  the  iit\-  of  Halifax,  faiui'iis 
for  its  ha\ing  been  the  resort  of"  lo\ers  in  olden  limes. 

Page  16.  CJii'lnicto  Bay.  Halita.v  Harbor,  formerly  CheiuHto 
IJay,  from  the  little  town  of  Chebiicto  on  its  bank,  niuv  Halifax. 

"  And  the  rich,  brilliant  bosom  of  Chebucto  liay 
Stretched  out  in  the  ilislance  to  welcome  the  da\  ." 

Set  to  music  by  ]\lr.  Knn"l  Wahle. 

Links,  whittk.n  di  kin(,  .\  Tiundik  Siokm. 

Page  20.  i',)-cat  Si.  y'amrs  timi  Xctrt-  naiiie.  Two  ..f  the 
principal  streets  in  Montreal. 

In  My  Hat. 

Page  j'l.  .Vn  old  while  hat  wurn  by  the  auth(.r  during;  a  series  of 
hardships  in  New  V(jrk. 

Page  26.  .S(;  we' II  Itai'C  it.  1  iloiibi  very  mmh  if  "  phdiet  " 
and  "have  it  "  rhyme  well,  Inii  if  not.  I  will  \\\\\<:  to  say  a-  \\\  s 
joNSON  said  :   "  It  isn't  rhyme,  but  it  is  true." 

Pkiipukcv. 

Page  31.  "  0\y  nt\o'shcad."  l)eco,  meaning  deceitful,  ihc 
name  by  which  the  person  to  whom  the  pomi  is  addressed  is  called. 


ro8 


Xof( 


'S. 


f 


C  A N  ADI A N    R KX' I RW EK S  . 

Page  38.  yo/iu  Doiigall  sits.  John  Dougall,  editor  of  the 
Montreal  Daily  Witness. 

Page  38.  As  Caiiii'ron  cotimcnce.  John  Cameron — writes 
for  tlie  Illitstrated  Canadian  Xcjvs. 

'Vuv.    RaM1!LUR. 

I'age  41.  /  crossed  thy  stream,  fai)-  Sissibou,  alone.  Sissihou, 
a  river  in  N\)va  Scotia.     See  illustration. 

■'  And  sparkles  on  its  winding  way, 
The  gentle  Sissibou." 

Page  47.  i'litssaa  Carlo!  (iussaa,  a  Micmac  Indian  word 
meaning  "  (let  out,"  or  "  Clear  away,"  used  only  in  speaking  ti> 
ilogs. 

Page  66.  Ihavc  Xol'lc  )-ns/icd.  Colonel  Noble,  commandin..; 
the  FJnglish. 

Page  68.  Another  Xo/>le  at  their  feet.  Knsign  Noble  fell 
shortly  after  his  brother  the  Colonel. 

Page  69.      To  the  lasin's  hank.     The  basin  of  .Minas. 

Tin;  Prisoner. 

Page  73.  Where  Bloiuido)i  jioiv  stands.  Mount  Blomidou,  ,it 
tlie  head  of  the  basin  of  Minas. 

"  And  Blomidon,  a  sentry  grim, 
Stands  out  to  stud  the  deep." 

The  Hunter's  Morninc;  Song. 

Page  105.     Set  to  nuisic  by  the  author. 


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